


Waltzing Through Time

by HollyGlow



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal, Bathing, Biting, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Blood Magic, Blood and Gore, Dubious Consent, Injury Recovery, M/M, M/M/M Threesome, Magic, Multi, Murder, Mycroft Runs the World, Mycroft wants a harem, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Oral Sex, Possessive!Sherlock, Rape, Rape Recovery, Shameless Smut, Unrequited Love, Vampires, Violence, folk magic, herbal medicine, major character death/rebirth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-01-05 14:10:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 91,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1094851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollyGlow/pseuds/HollyGlow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>** NOT ABANDONED! Very slow to update **</p><p>Mix of AU/Canon: Sherlock Holmes has been a vampire for over seven hundred years and during that time the only constant in his life has been John Watson. When John gives his life to protect Sherlock from James Moriarty in the 1800s the detective is left alone and aching. When Sherlock is forced to take that fall 200 years later to protect the reborn and still mortal John the memories of their years together begin to gnaw away at them both. Sherlock is thus faced with a choice - to bring John back to his immortal life and try to find the happiness they were denied or to allow John to live his mortal life and potentially miss his chance at ever sharing life eternal with his soulmate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> The beginning chapters of this story are the historical beginning of Sherlock and John's life. They explore John's original birth as a vampire, several periods of separation, and John's death to stop Moriarty from hurting Sherlock in the 1800s. The main story will begin following the Reinchenbach. The dates used will be lose and non-specific.
> 
> Some important notes for you here:
> 
> 1) This story is a mix of ACD and BBC Canon along with AU components  
> 2) Vampire notes:
> 
> *Can walk in sunlight but are weaker than mortals when exposed to it directly  
> *Silver can harm them due to a chemical reaction with their blood  
> *Possess magic  
> *Can be killed in the same ways as mortals if they lose too much blood and are exposed to sunlight  
> *Can father offspring with mortal women  
> *Creating a new vampire requires a lot of work and permanently transforms the soul of the person turned  
> *Can be reborn as mortals with hints of memories/blood hunger called Reincarnates  
> *Based off a personal fiction of my own that I have yet to finish  
> *Have soulmates that can be found by the blood thread, a specific connection that is felt most deeply by Vampires.

                Tudor England was a sight to see. A society of excess if you were in the right crowds and of deep, crushing misery if you weren't. It was your typical elegant social outing which meant that Sherlock Holmes was bored to tears. His elder brother Mycroft forced him to come along with him, for what purpose he knew not. He was considering the various ways to abandon the entire evening and pursue his own purposes when his eyes fell on a young man that made the blood pound in his ears. John Hamish Watson, the young cousin of the Duke holding this miserable gathering was cautiously avoiding conversation with any of those in attendance. The dark blue outfit he was wearing made him look moderately handsome but he was not interested in attracting anyone. He simply wanted to make sure he didn't embarrass himself.  His family lived on a small farm outside of the main portion of the city and he was not used to large gatherings like this. He was awkward and certainly not as elegant and refined as those around him, so he did his best to blend in. As he moved to a balcony to take in some fresh air he was surprised when he felt a prickle on his neck and turned to find a tall, dark haired man with quicksilver eyes walking towards him. He knew the man was the younger son of the Duke's favorite advisor, to be honest he knew many things about the man though he doubted the man repaid the favor. The two had crossed paths several times throughout the last two years but despite John's efforts he'd never been able to enter into friendship with the man. His pale white skin seemed to glow in the moonlight as he stepped quietly onto the balcony, his dark curls reflecting the light in a way John had never before observed. All in all he was striking and John could not withdraw his gaze to save his life.

                                "Do you not enjoy this sort of event?" Sherlock asked darkly and John knew immediately it was a question of test, he wanted to determine outright if John was even worth his time. He felt obligated to be honest. Sherlock walked towards him slowly, enjoying the sound of silence around them and the look of confusion and desire brewing on the man's face. He understood why his brother had brought him now, because he felt it the sensation of a string connecting the two and pulling them ever closer together.

                                "No, this is not how I would prefer to pass an evening." He answered honestly before correcting himself. "Though it is a most delightful party." The red velveteen outfit made those quicksilver eyes take on different hues as he looked into them and they were distracting him. He was caught in the man's eyes and felt himself sink into the moment as if nothing else existed. He felt like the forces of nature were slowly pulling them into a powerful orbit around each other. He looked up as Sherlock came to rest just in front of him, his eyes burning down into John's. John's breath was uneven in his chest and he felt a strong desire to give over to the care of this man.

                                " _No, I suppose it is not too terrible_." Sherlock's response was soft, in fact John wasn't sure had actually spoken the words. " _It is however incredibly boring_."

                                "Ah, that it is." John felt himself blush, that wasn't the proper answer. A smirk hitched on Sherlock's mouth and John found himself overwhelmed by a powerful urge to kiss him. Sherlock's smirk became a smile and John had the suspicion he was reading his mind.

                                " _That blush is gorgeous_." The appraisal soared through him and he went even redder.

                                "T-thank you." He finally pulled his eyes away and looked down. "I do not believe we have spoken before, Lord Holmes." He turned to look out over the grounds, trying to regain his breath.

                                "Sherlock." He corrected sternly. "No I do not believe we have. However, I do believe that will change starting now." The man's voice was like a purr as he moved even closer to John. John had just long enough to wonder happily if he was going to kiss him, Sherlock's hand sliding towards his face before they heard someone open the doors to the balcony.

                                "There you are!" A voice exclaimed suddenly and the two men spun to face the voice. The man was just barely taller than John, dark hair and dark eyes. His voice had a strange, unhinged laughing quality to it and he looked like it was Christmas.

                                "Oh, my apologies!" John snapped but Sherlock registered the hint of fear on his face. "It was Lord Moriarty wasn't it? They did not inform me you arrived." John stepped forward and grasped the man's hand in supplication. "I apologize Lord Holmes, we will have to part our pleasant conversation. I must attend to my duty."

                                "Yes, do not trouble yourself I have only just arrived." The man's eyes flashed towards Sherlock betraying amusement and something darker. "However I must beg you to come with me, I cannot have my personal attendant hiding in the dark with a man of questionable character."

                                "I am sorry," John said earnestly. "My Uncle did task me to show you around when you arrived, though he seemed to be of the suspicion you would not arrive in time for the party. Come, I believe you are to meet him and my cousin whom is your intended?" John shuffled back inside and Sherlock found himself pulling in air in a new and different way with the falling silence. It was like part of him was missing. His anger rose sharply, along with some possessive instinct and he had to struggle against the urge to show his true self and steal John away. He growled softly.

                                "That man is dangerous, brother." Mycroft's voice simply appeared beside him, startling him slightly. "Lord Moriarty is of utmost concern to us." Mycroft leaned back against the railing, his sharp jacket a stark contrast to it.

                                "He is one of us." Sherlock's growled response made Mycroft tilt his head.

                                "Yes he is. Who was the other?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow, his dark eyes examining every detail about his brother.

                                "Just a man." Sherlock said tensely, but Mycroft smiled.

                                "Just a man would not have pulled you out of that room so fast even I did not see you move, brother. Come now do not be silly, tell me the truth. Is it true, that look on your face? Do you believe him to be your mate? Are you still looking for something so trivial as that?" Mycroft's voice was teasing and Sherlock growled again.

                                "Leave him. No matter what I think he is I know he is _mine_." Sherlock turned to his brother angrily, clicking his tongue.

                                "Is he? I believe that right now Lord Moriarty intends to have his way with him. Perhaps you fear the wrong man. Just look at them..." Mycroft's tone was dark and Sherlock felt himself compelled to look where his brother directed.

                It was true, Moriarty had John pushed against a wall where conveniently Sherlock and Mycroft could see them but no one inside could. John was flushed, his face looked enthralled and utterly helpless as he whispered with the man. Sherlock growled something clawing at his stomach and he knew he could not allow this to stand. That man was _his_ mate. He'd felt the sign, seen the truth in his eyes, and felt how easily their minds linked. He swept into the main hall and "accidentally" bumped into Moriarty, breaking the moment and his hold over the mortal. John looked up, surprised to see where he was standing and suddenly feeling as if he'd been doused in ice water. His eyes caught Sherlock's and held again, a desperation in his chest.

                                "I am terribly sorry." Sherlock said softly. "I was not watching where I was going."

                                "It is not a problem." Moriarty snapped and went to steer John away when a woman came up and grabbed his arm. Sherlock made his move, sweeping his arm through John's and walking him off.

                                "Thank you..." John whispered softly as they stepped out into the night. "I am not sure what happened." He looked confused but followed as Sherlock led.

                                "Do not thank me yet, I am not clear how honorable my intentions are." They stopped a short way outside the house, hidden in the tree line. Sherlock knew his kin were close and he had no fear of retaliation from Moriarty, lest he expose his mortal cover. John did not shiver with fear, instead he seemed eager to have this moment alone with Sherlock and Sherlock found this all the more intriguing.

                                "I do not understand how he is able to affect me so easily. He simply looked me in the eyes and everything went blank." John whispered. "He is so different than you."

                                "Than me?" Now he was intrigued.

                                "Yes, you have the same allure as he does, but with you I feel safe. With you I feel like all the ages of the world stretch before and behind me." John turned to look up at Sherlock just as the moon cleared the trees. Sherlock felt his breath hitch in his chest. John looked even more striking in this light and he could feel that string tightening more in his chest. This man had to be his, but he felt a pang. He wanted it to be willingly and he was already unsure of whether or not he'd drawn him in.

                                "You know not what you say, John Watson." But his hand was already scaling the length of John's neck. "You do not understand..." His motions froze when John spoke.

                                "No, I do not. You are like no man. I know there is something different about you and your brother. I had heard the rumors and always believed them to be the fantastical notions of bored individuals, however I can feel your hunger like my own breath. I can feel how deeply you desire me. It's rather frightening really, to know that of all those you could choose you have your sight on me." Their eyes locked and Sherlock felt it again. That string pulsing between them.

                                "You are not safe." He whispered, leaning down. Their mouths drawn together.

                                "Was I ever?" He breathed as their lips collided.

                It was unlike any kiss either of them had shared with another previously. Sherlock had lived for two hundred years and no moment was like this one. John's mouth drew him in, his hand braced over the pulse in his neck and the other sliding up into his sandy hair. John's hands tentatively moved to his arms and slid up his back as their bodies crushed together in the darkness. The kiss seemed to last for hours before they pulled apart, lips swollen and breath ragged. Sherlock made a motion and his carriage appeared, he helped John inside.

                                "I will see you home safe. You are to come to my manor tomorrow." Sherlock's instructions were firm but once inside the carriage he brought their mouths back together.

                                "What is this feeling?" John asked him as they pulled apart again. "This pulsing thread between us, what is it?" He tilted his head slightly, unknowingly exposing his neck.

                                "It..." Sherlock's mouth opened despite his efforts to shove the desperate need away, the throbbing of John's pulse completely undoing his mind. "It is the sign of a bond mate. It means you are destined to be mine..." John felt the heat that pooled in his stomach as Sherlock came slightly undone.

                                "You want to drink of me..." John said softly, searching Sherlock's eyes. "The rumors are true are they not? You are one of the undead, a vampire?" Sherlock was surprised because John sounded interested not afraid.

                                "Yes. I have lived for over two hundred years." He found himself letting the words fall easily from his lips. He trusted this man, implicitly. "My brother and I were turned by a woman just after I passed my twentieth year. Yet in all that time no one has drawn me in so quickly as you."

                                "It has not been quickly." John chided, blushing. "I have tried to catch your eye since I was of age six years ago. At every event, at every gathering, even in the market." Their eyes searched one another's for a long moment. "You can walk in the sun."

                                "Yes, there is much lore around our kind that is untrue. We are weaker in the day but we do not burn. If we are injured too gravely and left to the sun we will die from weakness not ash." He ran his hand over John's face without touching him, groaning as John easily turned his head further.

                                "If you do not drink of me this moment it will drive us both mad. I willingly give you of myself. You may tell me more of this lore tomorrow when I meet you, let us not waste what little time we have in this moment." His breath was heavy, forcing its way through his chest as he felt Sherlock lean in towards him.

                                "Are you not afraid I may drain you and leave you to die?" His sleek mahogany baritone hummed against John's neck.

                                "I fear nothing of you. You will not leave me to die because I have already become fire in your veins. I became your fascination at least three years ago and now you can no longer put it off. I want to feel it." He pushed his neck into Sherlock's mouth and moaned as Sherlock began to lathe his lips and tongue across it.

                It was a deadly and dangerous thing to do, Sherlock had not fed in three days testing himself and his hunger. He also felt the powerful heat of arousal sweep through his body as this man so easily sank into the knowledge of what he was without fear. How John simply gave himself over to the inescapable truth that Sherlock himself had been avoiding for six years. He slowly sank his teeth in, growling deliriously as John's essence poured into his mouth, John moaning under him. He drank only a little, not so much as he wished, but enough that he would be able to learn everything about John as he rested during the next day. When he pulled back, that ruby essence gleaming on his lips he panted. John groaned.

                                "I find in myself an urge to kiss you like this," He whispered gently reaching up to touch Sherlock's lips. "Is that common in your prey?"

                                "You have nothing in common with any prey I have ever hunted." Sherlock conceded before pressing their mouths together.

                He had fed before. He had even experienced arousal when he fed but it was nothing like the heat blooming in his groin now. This ache was so very different and new. It was possessive, it was dark. He wanted to tie John up and claim him for days before draining him to the point of death and rebirthing him into the life of a vampire - to be his for all eternity. It was almost frightening to him, he had never wanted something this desperately in all his life. The two of them ground their hips together until John shouted.

                                "Oh stop! Please..." He begged, swallowing hard. "I shall never be able to hide a release like this. Please... Tomorrow... You may do what you wish with me." Sherlock obliged him, sitting up and the two of them heaving for breath. The carriage stopped outside John's farm and he slowly brought himself back into the world. "Are you afraid?" He asked Sherlock as Sherlock walked him toward the door.

                                "Me?" He asked incredulously.

                                "Yes, I can feel fear that I know is not my own." John's voice was soft, if not for Sherlock's improved senses he would have had to lean in to him. "Fear that can only be yours. It is this bond is it not?"

                                "It is. I have never felt something like this. I have never been attached to anyone."

                                "I have dreamed of you all my life. I have been destined for this." He let his hand reach up and cradle Sherlock's cheek, drawing him down into another kiss. "I will not fight something that is so beautiful and strong."

                                "There may come a time when you must. Danger is near, John... You are mine. Though there are others around who have their attentions on you."

                                "I know. Which is why I will release myself fully into your care tomorrow." John smiled. Sherlock looked surprised but John just shook his head. "This life holds nothing for me... Especially nothing so wonderful as a life with you will. I do not wish to continue this charade, your tutelage can teach me to be more than I ever can as a mortal. Please consider it." John kissed him once more and turned to walk in the house. Just inside the door Sherlock called his name, making him turn back. "Yes?"

                                "I am supposed to ask you that." His voice was tight with emotion but he could clearly see John's smile.

                                "You already know I accept. I have studied your kind or what is available about them. You will see everything." John nodded and closed the door.

                Sherlock was left standing alone in the dark as the moon rose a bit higher. He didn't move for a very long time, watching the candle light that flickered to life and through the hall towards what could only be John's chamber. He felt an overwhelming urge to enter that room and claim John now, however he pressed himself to wait. He must speak with Mycroft first. Mycroft was the leader of their clan and he would have to have permission. Though if Mycroft said no he had every intention of proceeding anyway. John would be his. Mycroft seemed to be waiting for him when he returned to their manor and stalked into his study.

                                "So was your evening pleasant?" Mycroft teased, a darkness in his voice. He was drinking blood from a wine glass - one of his favorite actions.

                                "I want him." Sherlock spat as a reply.

                                "Why should I allow that?" He accented each word, looking over his brother with interest. "You have never wanted a pet."

                                "He is not a pet!" Sherlock shouted and Mycroft's smirk grew wider as he stood.

                                "No, he is not is he?" He walked over and circled his brother, observing him. "You have tasted his essence." His face was very close to his brother's, their skin almost touching. "Did you take it? Force him?"

                                "No... I had no intention of drinking from him but he..." Sherlock shivered.

                                "Oh. He is magnificent is he not? His family thinks very little of him. He spends his time in books and tending to the wounds of their animals and their servants. They believe him to be dull and that he will be nothing but a bane on their family as they try to wed him off. Imagine their surprise if Sherlock Holmes, Lord of this estate waltzes in just days after their first conversation and asks for his hand." Mycroft's words were cold, Sherlock had a terrible fear his brother was going to deny him this.

                                "Brother," He said softly, almost moving to plea but Mycroft stopped him.

                                "I know what you felt. I could see it all over your face. I could see it in his face, hear it in his thoughts... He has been trying to gain your attention for awhile now but you were determined to fight it. So why should I allow you to claim him?"

                                "I have never asked you for anything!" Sherlock shouted angrily, his entire body tensing. "In the whole of our lives, I have watched you go through countless men and women seeking this same thing. I have done all you have asked without question. If you saw my face then you know I cannot fight this! No matter how much I would wish to!" He was angry.

                                "That much is true. You will not be able to fight it. However you must use your brain." Mycroft sighed softly. "We will take John Watson into our employ, we will tutor him in the world he is unaccustomed to, and when the time is right we will bring him to our life." Sherlock felt relief sweep through him but it was gone in a moment.

                                "You..." His voice caught.

                                "That is my condition." Sherlock sighed and met his brother's eye.

                                "May I prepare him?" He trembled.

                                "You may warn him but my methods are my own. You will guide him through the change, but his blood and his change are mine. I am the leader of this family." Mycroft snapped tersely.

                                "Fine, Mycroft, fine! But he is mine!" Sherlock growled.

                                "He is and will be, but his death and rebirth will be mine. Think, you imbecile." He sighed. "If you bring him to this life you will lose the ease with which you may read his mind. Your connection will be challenged in every way. This way ensures the two of you remain bonded fully."

                He had to concede the point. Mycroft was right. Becoming a sire to a fledgling meant losing whatever ability one had to read their mind, but the thought of Mycroft taking John's life made Sherlock feel darkly possessive again. A growl playing on his lips. Sherlock swept from the room, his anger filling him as he did and Mycroft simply sighed watching him go. This was a dangerous time for his brother to be giving in to sentiment, however if this was truly his bond mate... Well he would be stronger in the end.

                                "Anthea..." Mycroft turned to the woman who came forward. "I want you to arrange a room near Sherlock's. We're going to have company."

                The next morning dawned cool and grey, John waking with the sun and immediately setting to his chores. His two younger sisters joining him as they worked with servants to prepare the house. Once the sun rose a bit higher John took his leave of the house, slipping off into the forest near his house to study. He made it easily to his usual place, a darkened clearing where he could rest easily on the low branches of a tree. He settled himself in his usual place, pulling out a sheaf of parchment. He unrolled it and began to read the notes contained therein. He knew Sherlock could walk during the day, he set his quill and ink on the ground and began to scrawl notes on the parchment with the small amount of information provided to him the night before. He then rolled the parchment and pulled out a small leather bound volume he'd made himself. He began to scrawl in details of the night before, before pausing and looking up. Sherlock was thinking about him, he could tell because he felt a flutter in his chest.

                Sherlock found very little sleep, his mind desperate to begin sorting through the volume of memories that came with drinking his lovers blood. John was a scholar on vampires - gaining any knowledge he could. Sherlock could see him sitting in his favorite spot, scrawling notes and observations, correcting parchments and volumes that he collected, and musing over the truths and lies put forth in them. John had studied every piece of information he could find because... Because he understood what Sherlock was from the first moment he'd put his eyes on him. He had known before Sherlock had revealed it to him. Sherlock could see in his mind the dreams that spoke to him of another life, a life his was inexplicably bound to. John was adopted though it was unknown to anyone outside the family he was raised by. His mother and father had been killed during a journey through the country. One of the servants for the Watson family brought the baby boy too them as they had no son and had recently lost a child. John had found out when he was ten - when an uncle arrived in the city to search for him. He was given a necklace which Sherlock was unable to make out in his memories. Something he kept hidden under his shirt. No one else found out about John's origin until he was seventeen when his cousin discovered it and threatened to expose the family. He was surprised at the many memories of John telling his adoptive parents that he would not wed anyone they presented him because he knew he was destined for someone specific. Sherlock could see the moment John realized that person was Sherlock Holmes, Lord of a large manor and one known to avoid the public.

                It had been their first moment of contact in the market six years before. Sherlock had been weak, he had not fed and had failed to return home before sunrise. He was hurrying through the market on the way home trying to make it there before he encountered trouble or was injured. He and John had collided outside a small apothecary stall, John dropping everything in his arms to catch Sherlock. Sherlock had been surprised to see such a poor man letting go of such important items in order to assist the man who had plowed into him. His touch had been gentle and guiding but Sherlock could feel in John's memories how it had been their contact that sparked something deeper. How it had been the response inside his own body that confused him. He'd felt that string between them and he could clearly see in John's eyes he felt it too. John had broken several vials of expensive liquids he was using to make medicines. Sherlock immediately tried to replace them as an apology - but the apothecary had been out. As Sherlock negotiated a repayment of the funds lost due to his careless behavior their eyes burned into each other's and in that moment the string tightened. Both had chosen to ignore it then fearing the repercussions, but Sherlock could see how as they seemingly randomly ran into each other again over the next few months John consented to its strength first, allowing himself to become more comfortable with it as time passed. John spoke with his father about the Holmes family, only to be told that he should avoid them outside of court. One of the servants told John she believed the Holmes to be vampires, which he laughed off but found intrigued him. There again was a portion of John's memories that were hidden, so he could not understand them. A puzzle that intrigued him so much he almost raced from his bed to John in order to demand the answers. Instead he focused and pushed beyond the block to the next section of memory. To see how John was determined to know the truth so he began studying the rumors and records that listed anything about these vampire creatures. Desperate to learn so he could rectify the man he was utterly bound to with the rumors around him.

                Sherlock woke quickly when he heard Anthea knocking on the door. He knew it was her because her knock was inpatient. She opened the door when he responded.

                                "There is a gentleman here to see you, Lord Holmes." She said curtly.

                                "Is it John?" He barely breathed.

                                "Of course it is, who else would come for you?" She snarled.

                                "Let him come here..." Sherlock began but she stopped him.

                                "He is with your brother in the dining room, Lord Mycroft directs you to join them there." Sherlock's face tightened and he dressed hurriedly. He chose his best outfit, a deep purple jacket and white shirt over black trousers. He made his way as slowly as possible to the room to find Mycroft and John chatting in friendly tones.

                                "So you do not have a true tutor?" Mycroft asked softly, almost kindly.

                                "No, I am afraid my Uncle has no one to spare and I am considered so hopeless by most others no one will take me." He admitted easily, looking down.

                                "You are not so bad as that." Mycroft smiled warmly and John flushed just slightly. "When I have met you at court you do admirably, especially for one with so little training."

                                "I appreciate the commendation, however I disagree."

                                "Ah, Sherlock." Mycroft smirked as John's eyes immediately snapped up to meet his brother's and the two paused.

                                "Good morrow, Lord Holmes." John said standing quickly and bowing a bit. "I have come as you requested. I am deeply grateful for the escort home last evening as I have heard a woman was attacked and left to die in the forest shortly after our departure."

                                "Then it is good that I kept an eye on you." Sherlock smiled and inclined his head. "It is good to see you J... Sir Watson. If my brother is quite finished with you I should like to take you on a tour of the grounds."

                                "Oh I was merely testing his desire to learn. I am most pleased and will dispatch someone to his parents on the morrow to inform them he will come under our wing. We shall move him here and teach him the ways of the world." Mycroft smirked as John flushed.

                                "How generous of you." He conceded.

                                "Yes, I look forward to assisting you in his tutelage." Sherlock said firmly, his face darkening. Mycroft simply waved them off.

                                "Your grounds are much larger than any indication I have been given." John praised as Sherlock led him through a long ivied tunnel.

                                "That is because our grounds house many families. This is the home of our clan."

                                "Why are you telling me this?" John asked softly as they came to rest at the end of the walk, in front of a fountain. "Why do you trust me?"

                                "It is simple, if you betray us I will kill you." He promised but he moved closer to him. "You want this?"

                                "I want you." He shrugged.

                                "You do not even know me."

                                "I know you better than anyone." He promised as their mouths were inexplicably drawn together again. Sherlock's hand slid immediately into his hair, deepening the kiss.

                                "John," He hummed, forcing the kiss to stop. "What do you know about us?" He asked, directing him to sit down. John handed him the leather volume and the rolled parchment. He quickly scanned them. "These handwritten notes are yours?" He asked in awe.

                                "Yes, I have observed many things..." He flushed.

                                "You could have been labeled a hunter, that would have endangered your life." He kept staring at a word on the first page of the book. Solvanar - he had seen it before but he could not recall where.

                                "I could have however no one ever notices me. I wanted to understand." He urged as his voice betrayed his passion. "I wanted to understand you. You were so weak that day in the market, so different than when I saw you at the balls..." He looked down.

                                "I already know this. I saw it all in your blood." He whispered, shivering slightly. "These observations you have made are incredible. You have found many of the truths hidden by our kind."

                                "Not everything." He tilted his head again.

                                "That is true. You have the major points however, that silver is poison to us because of a reaction with our blood, that we can be killed by any normal means should we be weakened enough, and of course you have added what I revealed last evening." He smiled and rolled the parchment.

                                "Sherlock," He whispered and Sherlock felt himself tighten. The way he said his name held a gentle control over him. "Our bond is unavoidable. I know there are only two answers. Either you kill me or you accept me. You have never before had an interest in a partner, so if you plan to destroy me do not toy with my heart. Instead kill me now so I may be at peace."

                                "I could never do such a thing." Sherlock stood and swept John up into his arms again, cradling his chin. "I wanted to avoid it, I never wanted to feel this - but now I cannot ignore it. And you, you are so incredibly interesting..."

                                "I am not..." John protested but Sherlock cut him off.

                                "You are! You met me in an alley before the city was awake, caught me stumbling in weakness and proceeded to wrap your entire mind and passion around me! You learned everything you could about me in order to learn what I was, to learn how I lived... You have been loyal to me without me even having spoken with you. You are the most interesting person I have ever met." He crushed his mouth to John's again, cutting off his next reply.

                                "They why are you still afraid?" He asked timidly as their kiss broke.

                                "You can feel it again?" Sherlock's voice was breathless, full of lust.

                                "Yes, especially now that we are so near to each other." He searched his eyes, panting.

                                "It is my brother..." He didn't speak, instead the words sounded inside John's head. He shivered in Sherlock's grip. "He has told me I must let him give you rebirth."

                                "You mean he will be the one to drain me?" John's voice held a hint of fear.

                                "I am sorry," He looked down, as if he had failed. He felt John's fingers slip under his chin and lift his face.

                                "I will go through any amount of fire at the hands of others if in the end I shall be privileged to spend all eternity by your side." He moved gently and brought a soft, passionate kiss to Sherlock's mouth - slowly pressing his way in so their tongues could search one another. Sherlock moaned softly, feeling John as if he was inside his own body.

                                "You have never had a lover..." Sherlock whispered.

                                "No, I have not." John blushed. "Does that..."

                                "No... I want to claim you." He was almost begging. "I want to claim you before he touches you." His mouth greedily returned to John's pushing him back into the pillar of the gazebo.

                                "Sherlock," He whimpered softly.

                                "Please John, let me have you." His lips trailed down over his jaw, pushing down his collar to find purchase on his neck.

                                "I am only yours." John whispered his reply.

                Sherlock took his hand and half drug him back into the house. Anthea came to them to offer them anything they needed and Sherlock snapped at her to leave them be. He pulled John in his room and snapped the door shut behind them, pulling him to himself for a deeply lustful kiss.

                                "Sherlock, that was..."

                                "Obvious, I know." He smirked proudly as he pushed John back. "I wanted to claim you last night... You dreamt of it did you not?" He purred in his ear and John groaned.

                                "H-how..." John turned to look at him, falling back on the bed.

                                "I felt your passion, you pulled me into the dream." He flowed down over John, pinning him to the bed. "You wanted to see me, the real parts of me." He whispered, his hands running over John just above his body - in effect massaging his aura. John whimpered and leaned his head to the side automatically.

                                "Sherlock, oh God..." He whispered, his nails digging into Sherlock's arms through his jacket. "When you do that..."

                                "Why do you offer your neck so easily?" He moaned, his tongue lathing over the barely visible red marks where he had taken John's essence the night before.

                                "I cannot explain it." He panted as Sherlock undid his jacket. "I can feel the need in your body, the need to drink of me and my mind simply gives in to allow it." His breathing was ragged and desperate.

                                "This bond is uncommon for us... For us to find..." Sherlock tried to explain though his mind was already engaged in other thinking. "There are so many people in the world the likelihood of us finding our mates is usually low." He whispered lathing kisses over John's neck as he slowly pulled the various layers of clothing away. "I am forever in debt to the power that brought you into my knowledge. I shall protect you for all the ages of the world." He promised, leaning up to kiss John as he pulled his own shirts off.

                                "As I will protect you." John promised in return, leaning up to latch his mouth on Sherlock's neck. He moaned deeply, feeling the tenderness with which John kissed him.

                                "I would give you this life now if I could..." He whimpered, his hand gripping John's hair tightly. "Oh curse Mycroft that it must wait." He pushed John down, sliding his trousers off. He kissed down John's body before returning to kiss him. His hand gently stroking his demanding erection.

                                "Sherlock!" John whimpered and arched.

                                "I want to drink you and claim you." Sherlock pleaded, his mouth again on John's neck.

                                "Oh please..." He begged. Sherlock brought two fingers up letting John suckle them gently for a long moment before reaching down and gently pushing against his quivering ass. He pushed them in and out as John whimpered and moaned. He toyed with him for a long time, until John's whimpers were almost whines. He pulled away only to get his own trousers off, returning and stroking his own weeping cock, slicking himself with the liquid. He pressed himself against John, wrapping John's legs around his waist as he leaned down to kiss him hard.

                                "Oh you are so tight... Give in to me." Sherlock demanded as he kissed over to his neck and nipped at it. John arched unintentionally and pushed Sherlock inside of himself with a loud curse and whimpering.

                                "Oh my God!" John growled, trembling hard.

                                "So tight..." Sherlock clawed into his shoulders, waiting for a long moment before he slowly began to pump his hips in and out of John. John moaned loudly, his neck exposed and his whimpers desperate.

                                "Drink me! Please..." He begged. "Take me into yourself as you claim me!"

                                "You are so close to release already..." He whispered in his ear, his voice half in his mind and half in his words. " _You have no idea how much I desperately need this_." He let his teeth trail over John's neck before gently sinking them into the exact same place as the night before.

                His hips took on a life of their own slamming into John even harder as his essence spilled into his hungry mouth. His blood carried his lust forcing Sherlock's to achieve atmospheric levels as he teetered close to his own release. He pulled up off John's neck as they both we finally thrust over the edge, their vision going white, both of them shouting, and completely in sync with each other. A few drops of John's blood dripped down over his chest as the two lay there panting and staring in each other's eyes. Silence descended around them but Sherlock spoke, the words echoing in John's mind.

                                " _I had intended to keep you under me, writhing for desire for hours_..." He said smirking slightly. He shifted slightly so he pulled out of John but leaned down so they were still tightly embraced, with Sherlock on top. He caressed John's cheek and licked the slow trickling blood on his neck.

                                "I have desired this moment too strongly. I felt how my blood inspired you..." He whispered, panting for breath. "Your desire built in my own body until I could not help but release with you." He slowly raised his hand to Sherlock's cheek, cupping it as he did.

                                " _We must do this properly_." His voice again rumbled inside John's head again. " _You will have to leave me again this evening and return tomorrow. I believe my brother will begin your rebirth then. I_..." He looked away, sighing as he sank down into their embrace. " _He may not allow me to be present_."

                                "I imagine he will not." John agreed. "I believe you will have made him angry, claiming me like this." He blushed as Sherlock looked into his eyes. "It will be worth it."

                                "Yes, I believe you are." He smiled.

                John remained hidden away with Sherlock the rest of the afternoon and that evening he was dismissed back to his own manor with the promise of the request for his permanent relocation the following morning. When he returned looking pleased and bright his family demanded to know what happened but he gave them nothing. Instead consenting only to say that they may receive some favorable news the following morning. The next morning John woke early and he was surprised to find his father sitting on the edge of his bed. There was a nervousness coiled inside his chest that he knew must belong to his beloved. It would no longer allow him sleep. John stood and dressed quickly before turning to face the man, whose face betrayed an eagerness to speak with him.

                                "I don't know what you did last night son, however I am proud of you." The man said gruffly.

                                "What are you speaking of?" John demanded, looking confused. He never received so much as a kind word from this man and to hear them now was utterly infuriating.

                                "A letter arrived just before dawn from the Holmes family. It seems Lord Mycroft wishes to tutor you and employ you as one of his assistants. They have asked us to send you with all of your things to take up residence at their estate, today." John's gaze swept around the room as confusion filled him. He had not expected such a request so suddenly. He had expected to be required to remain at home for some time while going to train. Though this was a much preferred reality.

                                "Oh..." He said softly after opening and closing his mouth a few times. "Well I suppose I did something right then." It was a weak reply but he did not have anything better to offer. His mind already rife with the possibilities that lay before him. As soon as this very evening he would be with his beloved, permanently.

                                "We dispatched a letter to your Uncle for approval, if he concedes you will be dismissed from us at once." There in that tone were the words John had expected. The disappointment finally replaced with pride. Tentative pride that was aimed more at the potential fortune and connection the name Holmes would provide John's adoptive family and none saved for the man himself. His father had never before been proud to call him his son. He was far too ordinary.

                                "So this will be it then. Uncle will say yes because he knows how poorly you think of me and does not hold me in the same esteem." John gathered his clothes together, sorting through them to find an emerald green outfit. "Very well father. Thank you." He nodded as his father left.

                The messenger returned promptly from the Duke's house and with a letter that agreed it would be perfect for John to gain tutelage under the Holmes brothers. So it was easily arranged and around sunset John was on his way to a new life - in many ways. He carefully flicked through one of his few documents on vampirism as the carriage drove on. Sherlock snapped awake as he felt John's energy close to him, his scent filling his nose. Their shared tension becoming stronger as their proximity increased. He sat up slowly, moving like a cat - long fluid motions. He swept through his room, hastily dressing and his senses expanding to take in the feeling of the house. He heard voices in the hallway, most importantly he heard John's soft tones. Excitement filled his chest and he could feel the subtle shift as John began to fill with it as well. Anthea almost laughed as she directed John and saw the stupid smile that covered his face the closer they moved towards Sherlock's room.

                                "Lord Mycroft says you are to remain in your room unless escorted by a servant, the Lord himself, or the younger Lord, Sherlock."Her voice was soft as she directed him. "Your room is close to that of Sherlock as he will be your primary instructor. Do rest well, the Lord will meet with you in the soon." John stood perfectly still, immediately turning towards Sherlock's door just as it opened. The pair so innately in tune with each other that every movement seemed to be made in equal measure by either man.

                                "John..." Sherlock's voice called as he stepped into the room. He was still somewhat asleep. John looked up and blushed. He was wearing his best outfit and had a small case in his hands, which he set down. Sherlock was fighting the urge to take his lover in his arms, but the urge was too strong.

                                "I am sorry if I have disturbed you..." John whispered, blushing as Sherlock swept towards him and into his arms.

                                "You beautiful man." Was the only reply.

                Sherlock helped John settle into his room and John had barely closed his eyes when he was awoken by Anthea. She instructed him to pull on his shirt and trousers before following her downstairs. He was led past the dining room and below the main entrance to a hidden staircase that led down underground. When he arrived in the room below Mycroft and Sherlock were waiting for him, seated inside a well lit bed chamber with a heavy door. John rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked between the two men with some anxiety. Mycroft looked positively elegant in a dark red dress robe. His eyes flashing as he took in the man before him. John could feel Sherlock's nervousness, pooling in their stomachs and causing both of them to flush slightly.

                                "When these occasions present themselves I usually prefer to draw them out, as you are no doubt aware my dear Watson, we have had to take a rather rash approach. We have discovered a plot to bring injury to you and thus we have had to rush things. We have no time to spare on our task, so I shall put it simply to you..." Mycroft smiled, standing up and sweeping close to John. His face merely a breath apart, he smiled as John remained firm. "I intend to drain you of your mortal life and turn you to ours. It will take three days. During the course of each evening I shall come here and drain your essence and then you shall take my blood. During the course of the day my brother will guard you - but you are not to drink from him until our ritual is complete. You are free to do whatever is necessary to deal with the pain, however if you drink from him you will die before this task is finished. Do you understand?" He growled darkly, leaning close to John. John did not flinch, instead he focused himself resolutely.

                                "You are leader of this clan, you are the elder brother, you are my tutor - whatever your rules are I accept." He replied as firmly as he could. Sherlock's nerves were gnawing away at him, though his own resolve was strong. Mycroft smiled and turned to move back towards his chair.

                                "Sherlock, prepare him for me." Mycroft smirked, sinking back in his chair.

                Sherlock walked over to John and gently pressed kisses to his mouth, listening to the moan of his lover as he easily freed him from his shirt. Neither of them content with the thought that Mycroft may actually go through with his threat to physically use John. Sherlock was desperate to claim John again, their mouths moving furiously against each others' as they tried to quell the emotion roiling inside their chests. Sherlock only stopped when Mycroft suddenly gasped and swept close to them, shoving Sherlock to the side. Sherlock moved as Mycroft's eyes burned onto the pendant on his neck. Sherlock was confused, his nerves slowly fading. John stayed strong, smirking a bit as Mycroft's shock betrayed itself.

                                "You're a Solvanar?!" He demanded angrily, moving to touch John but stopping short. His anger filling his dark eyes.

                                "Yes, the last of my branch of the family tree." He countered easily and Sherlock smirked as he saw something in his lovers gaze that Mycroft missed. John was amused, he had expected this moment and planned for it accordingly. It made something in Sherlock's chest purr contentedly. This man was a perfect match for him. "A branch you tried to remove, Lord Mycroft." His eyes hardened but he did not raise his tone. Mycroft sneered.

                                "What do you mean?" He pulled back, growling in anger.

                                "You killed my parents and my sister as retaliation for  their attempts to kill your pet when they crossed paths with her on our journey north. I was just a babe when it happened and my mother had the intelligence to hide me under a blanket while Anthea tore through the wagon to ensure she had destroyed us all. My Uncle informed me of the story when he found me around my tenth birthday. However it is of no consequence to you what I _was_ , Mycroft. I am dead to them and have been for three years hence." John sighed and finally looked down. "I am Solvanar only by birth. I pledge my life to Sherlock and to this coven regardless of history."

                                "What's a Solvanar?" Sherlock asked curiously, looking to his brother.

                                "It is the name given to families born of mortal and vampire relations. A male vampire can sire a child with a female mortal, but the child is almost exactly like their mother. If the child, who is both half vampire and half mortal, chooses to live a mortal life and denies herself the vampire aspect of her being she becomes a Solvanar. She will then most likely birth a mortal girl child with her mortal husband who again shall resemble the mother and grandmother almost entirely. It is the fourth generation that a son can finally be born again of the mortal line. John's parents ran afoul of Anthea when she went out to feed many years ago. They intended to kill her because her knowledge of their bloodline was dangerous to their young children. Solvanar children are prone to seeking out vampires because the blood still lingers in their bodies. They crave the life that was denied to them by their mothers. It has been found to be especially true in the sons of the Oaken Solvanar, John's line. Their hunger and desire for nocturnal life usually finds footing in the sons born of the line, beginning the pattern all over again if or when they choose to take a mortal woman to their side.  As I understood it his family had been wiped out. However when I discovered the work on the Oaken Solvanar here in our city I was informed that John was the younger sibiling, the one not given the Solvanar heritage..." Mycroft explained for them both, noting that John simply smiled.

                                "You were intentionally misinformed, my Lord. My sister and I were twins however as it was I was older by a short while." John continued smiling. "I know you are not afraid of my heritage as a Solvanar, Mycroft. It is not my birth that frightens you because we both know that my birth makes me ripe for your clan. The blood hunger that comes to the sons of the Solvanar, particularly the Oaken Solvanar is what drew me to Sherlock in the first place." He spoke softly, with focus.

                                "Blood hunger?" Sherlock asked softly, now entirely enthralled.

                                "The sons of the Solvanar usually fall prey to the strength of the vampiric nature of their heredity. They are usually sent to reside with other, elder males of the Solvanar lines. The descendants of the city of Solvanar. They are instructed and guarded so they do not given in to the power of the blood hunger within their bodies." John finally looked down and Sherlock felt sorrow he knew belonged not to himself but to his beloved. "That is why I am considered dead to them. I did not resist."

                                "You have tasted blood?" Mycroft asked eagerly, stepping closer to John again.

                                "I have." He sighed. "My father taught me to hunt but he discovered me drinking the blood of a deer after one such hunt. He was not entirely sure what to make of the situation. It was then he wrote to my Uncle who came and instructed me in my heritage. My Uncle intended to send me to stay with another distant relative who would continue to instruct me and keep me from my own demons, as it were - however it required him to leave me alone for a time. During which I met Sherlock and became possessed of the idea of understanding him. As many of your clan came to me for injuries I was able to speak with them and earn their trust. One of the lesser members of your clan brought me a sample of Sherlock's blood." John flushed a bit with shame, but he felt Sherlock's desire sweep through his own body like fire.

                                "You've tasted it?" Sherlock asked breathlessly.

                                "Yes." John sighed. "I have, it was then that I understood what was before me. It was not enough to influence my own mortal life but it was enough to inflame the blood thirst. When my Uncle returned I informed him I had discovered my mate and that I was going to give myself over to you. He was disappointed beyond measure and tried vainly to convince me not to go through with my plan. However after several months of discussion and correspondence he relented. He understood that I was motivated not by power but by love. He crafted a story that I had been discovered and killed, thus ending the branch of my family." Mycroft smirked but he was careful not to betray his thoughts on his face.

                                "So you are correct, I do not fear your heritage, however I do feel you are saying I fear something..." He swept closer, reaching towards John but stopping again.

                                "You are afraid of the power of my shield. The Oaken shield, the birthright of an Oaken Solvanar." He gently touched the pendant of his necklace.

                                "Oaken shield?" Sherlock furrowed his brow.

                                "Yes. Each Solvanar family is named for a mighty tree. My family is the Oaken Solvanar. This necklace," He indicated the small square bronze colored pendant etched with knot work and a garnet in the center that rested just above his sternum. "Is my birthright. One is made for each child of the family on the occasion of their birth. It is imbued with the power of the half mortal, half vampire matriarch of the Solvanar clan. In this case my grandmother's blood was used in the creation of the garnet. The power of the blood makes it so a vampire cannot touch me without my permission. Which is what Moriarty was trying to garner from me at the ball recently. However it must be implicitly given and cannot be commanded over." He smiled.

                                "So my brother..." Sherlock was almost laughing but Mycroft looked angry.

                                "Cannot touch me. A vampire may only contact me when I give them permission or I am bonded to them. Both of which are the case with you, my love." He focused on Mycroft, his intention pooling in his eyes. "Touch me Mycroft." He commanded. "I give you permission to end my mortal life and ask humbly that you initiate me into your nocturnal realm. Take your desire from me."

                                "Oh he is precious." Mycroft growled and moved closer.  "There is but one thing left to do say."

                                "Lord Mycroft, leader of this coven - grant me your nocturnal crown. Remove me from the cycle of the sun and birth me into the phases of the moon so that I may bring honor unto your coven and family for all the ages of the world." John whispered, bowing his head. "I follow the rules of the Coven matriarch and the one she has deemed leader, you, the coven father. I give all of my loyalty to ensuring this family is protected and honored. I submit to your will asking only that you grant me the right to remain at my beloveds' side for all the ages of the world."

                                "How do you know the oath?" Mycroft grabbed him, holding his face tightly - anger in his eyes.

                                "Anthea told me the oath as repayment for her injuries." John replied simply, still remaining firm. Sherlock almost groaned with need.

                                "Sherlock to your task." Mycroft commanded his voice dark and thick with hunger as he watched John and Sherlock collide for a heated kiss. John melted easily into Sherlock's guidance even though he could feel Sherlock's jealousy pooling inside of his own stomach. Sherlock kissed him and continued undressing him, doing his best to not let his emotion show. John's eyes flashed to his, promising and reassuring as they could be in a moment like this.

                                "Show him..." Sherlock whispered commandingly and John moved forward very tentatively to put his hand on Mycroft's chest. Every move he made was an example of surrender, culminating only when John's body was only inches from Mycroft's. Mycroft could do nothing but watch with rapt attention as John surrendered to the will of the two men. John's final action was to gently tilt his head to the side, exposing his neck to Mycroft's desperate intentions. Mycroft felt pride, hunger, and something akin to lust flare inside his stomach.

                                "Drink of me, Mycroft. Claim what is yours: the mortal remnants of a life you despise." John coaxed, his eyes fluttering closed. Mycroft felt the spike of heat rise in his body along with the desperate hunger as his gaze fell over the throbbing vein in John's neck. It had been worth the painful sleep of a day without feeding to feel the shiver that ran through John's body as Mycroft's aura washed over him.

                                "You willingly submit to the will of this clan? To _my_ will?" Mycroft barely breathed as he leaned over John to inhale the scent coming off of him. He pressed his nose gently against the crease of his neck, groaning. John groaned softly himself, the power of Mycroft's need cutting off the rationality of his thought.

                                "Yes. I would do anything for Sherlock." He replied sternly.

                                "Even die?" Mycroft grinned and pulled back slightly to search his eyes.

                                "If my life would save his I would forfeit it without hesitation. My feelings will not change tomorrow or in three thousand years. I shall love him for all the ages of the world. He is my mate." John's voice was eager and earnest, reassuring both of the Holmes men that he meant each word. "My heritage as a Solvanar not withstanding I do not come here to gloat or flaunt what I am. The blood hunger inside of me is not what drives me here to your door. I come only as a man helplessly tied to another being for all the ages of the world." Sherlock made a soft noise and Mycroft looked to him. Sherlock desperately wanted to lay his claim, to turn John and claim his as his own forever.

                                " _Sherlock, his heritage makes it even more important that I should be the one to turn him. I know you wish to claim him. I do not blame you for wishing it. He is quite worthy but I must do this. If you turn him we will lose the advantage offered by his blood. Help me honor his request._ " Mycroft's words echoed in Sherlock's mind as he stood and gently came closer. He caressed John's arms, their bond forcing him to relax more into Mycroft's touch.

                Mycroft could feel John's pulse beating strongly under his skin, begging to be set free. His entire body softened into the moment and pleaded for the two of them to drink him. To take his essence and remake him into something new, something better, someone worthy of Sherlock. What neither of the brothers could accurately convey in that moment was that he was already worthy of him. He was in fact worthy of more, however they could not find the words to tell him how true those thoughts were. Mycroft gave in to the lust purring in his chest and slowly, reverently took John's face in his hands. He kept his neck tilted to the side and gently pressed his teeth into the tanned skin. John let out a groan as he felt his skin give way and his blood rushing into Mycroft's mouth. Sherlock tightened his grip around John supporting his weight as he whispered reassuring words in his ear. Mycroft's eyes flashed up to Sherlock's and Sherlock easily followed the command. He sank his teeth into John's shoulder still supporting him from behind as the two brothers drained him. John's soft moans became breathless as he felt his strength ebb and his control over his body faded. John's body responded first with lust and then dissolved into utter weakness as his strength left. He all but collapsed in Sherlock's arms, the movement pulling him from their mouths, his eyes half closed as he shivered on the edge of death and life. The two brothers easily shifted him to the bed, letting his rest easily against Sherlock's chest. Sherlock trying to keep John alert, active, and showing him he was safe. Mycroft cut open his wrist and pressed it to John's mouth.

                                "The hunger is inside of you, born into you by your birth..." He whispered darkly. "Let it free. Let it find a home in the truth you are desperate to feel." He coaxed. Sherlock let his touch flutter over John's body as John weakly latched on to Mycroft's wrist and drank slowly but steadily.

                Mycroft let him continue for a long time, watching as John whimpered and fought the edge of darkness that tried to claim him. Eventually he pulled away, weakened by the experience but watching as John's eyes slowly closed into the sleep that came with the transformation. He grunted in pain and Sherlock looked momentarily terrified, turning his eyes to his brother for direction. Mycroft did his best to give Sherlock a reassuring look as Anthea came and helped him up.

                                "It will be painful for him, his body will die while his mind remains strong and active. Stay beside him, comfort him however you can, I must go feed and rest. Sherlock, there is blood wine in the cabinet. If he begins to feel too much pain give him some it will dull the sensation. Be sure you feed when he sleeps." He ordered softly.

                                " _I thought you intended to..._ " Sherlock focused on Mycroft, his thoughts fluttering into his brother's mind. His voice still sounding small and terrified.

                                " _I did intend to claim him physically, however I can see now that it is an unnecessary portion of this task. He will remain loyal to you no matter what happens. His memories, as jumbled as they are make that clear to me. Rest with him. Protect him. He is a better mate than any I could have sought to provide you._ "

                With that Mycroft let Anthea escort him out of the room and Sherlock pulled a trembling, weak, and mostly sleeping John into his arms and cradled him like the most precious gem in the world. For that was what he was, the most magnificent jewel in Sherlock's nocturnal crown.


	2. Two Loves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's addiction to danger comes up against Mycroft's desire to protect John. Mycroft finds himself feeling more for his fledgling than he expected to and Sherlock's jealousy rears it's head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft is up to something. I don't know what (he refuses to tell me) but I can tell you he is no longer so keen on Sherlock keeping little Vamp!John in the end.
> 
> Oh these boys...

                John woke sometime later, it felt like it had been only minutes but he could tell by the way Sherlock was breathing it had been at least a few hours. His body felt strange - like it was pinning him down instead of holding him. Pain rocketed through his body and he grunted unintentionally. Sherlock's hand brushed his arm and he tensed, expecting pain but not finding it. The blanket drug across his skin as Sherlock jerked awake forcing him to gasp loudly, the sensation surprisingly different though he knew logically the cloth weighed less than Sherlock's hand. His lover sat up and grabbed him, searching his eyes to ensure he was not injured too badly.

                                "S-Sorry," He forced out, trembling with terrible chills. A heavy blanket was wrapped around him. The tone of his voice hurt his ears and he grunted again.

                                "No need to be sorry my love." Sherlock whispered, cradling his face. He spoke softly, his words bringing John ease. "Your senses are expanding and your mortal body is being transformed. Today will be the most painful, the morrow will be the hardest mentally." He gently kissed John who whimpered some at the contact but refused to allow Sherlock to pull away.

                                "You make it better..." John whispered breathlessly. "Touching you makes it better." He kissed his lover again, panting as he did. "Why does everything feel wrong?"

                                "Your body is dying my love," Sherlock's voice was soft, like a whispering wind in his ear. His long fingers dragging across John's back and making him moan loudly. "It is both dying and yet being reborn. Close your eyes." John did as he asked and he moaned even louder. The sensation of touch magnified thousands of times.

                                "Oh. Oh Sherlock!" He whispered, clawing weakly into his lovers shoulders. "I can hear the blood in your veins... Your fingers feel amazing..."

                                "Hush my love, you are going too quickly. Easy." Sherlock whispered in guidance, letting his lips gently find John's anew. John kissed him hungrily, using the sensation to mask the intense pain flowing through his body. He felt alternating waves of weakness and strength as he kissed his mate, his whole being focused on the feel of their touch.

                                "The string is tighter, it is like fire." John whispered against his mouth.

                                "It is yearning for the bonding ritual," He replied, kissing him more fiercely. "It will gain the reward it seeks once my brother has finished with you and I may take you away from here."

                                "Take me away?"

                                "Only for a short time, my precious one." Sherlock assured him, combing his hand back through John's hair. He pressed his hand over John's eyes instructing him wordlessly to close them again. John moaned as fire spread through him both in pain and in lust. "We will go to France for awhile. So as not to be disturbed. We will complete our bonding and when we return we will be officially married by the Duke." He nuzzled his nose against John's neck, groaning softly at the way his smell changed.

                                "I am on fire." He whimpered, pressing against Sherlock's touch. "Claim me again..." He pleaded, groaning as Sherlock again ran his hand just a bit above his skin. He thrashed his head, feeling alternatively dizzy and inflamed.

                                "My power over you is still strong... If not stronger." He purred as John moved.

                                "Stronger..." He conceded, blushing. "It is as if I can read your thoughts. Touch me more, please. Before your brother comes and takes me."

                                "Listen to you plead. I really should not touch you now with your body aching so..." Sherlock's voice was dark, a sudden wave of possessiveness washing over him. John whimpered as a plea and Sherlock's eyes darkened more. All sorts of dark jealous and angry things were rising in his chest. John could feel them like a badly tuned radio, pulsing in his veins.

                Sherlock pushed John down hard on the bed, ignoring his whimpers of pain. His mouth and teeth all over his chest and shoulders. His eyes growing darker by the moment. It hurt but John felt pleasure more strongly. His mind seemed to shiver and tremble before the pain simply began to fade. The pleasure just crowded into his mind and forced all the sensations of pain away. It forced everything away until he could think of nothing save Sherlock. Sherlock who was lost in his own primal nature from a mixture of a lack of feeding, brooding jealousy, and pure desire for the writhing man before him. He was not intentionally giving into this darker side of himself but his control over himself was faltering quickly. His aura bore down on John's fighting for submission just as he pressed touches and kisses all over John's body demanding physical submission as well. Demanding that John submit in every way to him. John whimpered and moaned, his entire body flooded with fire and desperation. His cock ached between them, still trapped for the moment in his trousers. It did not take long however for Sherlock to rip them away, leaving him utterly exposed and trembling.

                                "Who do you belong to?" Sherlock growled in his ear, roughly pulling his hair back. "WHO?" His eyes were dark and his emotion raged inside both of their chests, forcing John's mind to sputter and halt.

                                "You, Sherlock. To you." John groaned and gasped as Sherlock's mouth and tongue traced hard paths over his neck and shoulders. He shuddered when Sherlock nipped at the spot Mycroft had drained him, trembling as Sherlock nipped harder the second time.

                                "I am going to take you so hard, so utterly violently that no one else will ever satisfy you. You are _mine_." He growled again, this time even lower.

                He found the bottles of scented oils next to the bed, knowing they were put there by Mycroft for his little _games_. It made his temper flare and he yanked one open slicking his fingers overzealously with oil before pushing two of them almost unceremoniously into John. John cried out first in pain and then in pure pleasure as Sherlock's magic bore down on him again. Sherlock was using his magic to restrict the pain, rather unintentionally, as he was utterly desperate to mark his mate. To reclaim him. He worked John over with his fingers, working to bring him to the edge of and then restraining his release. John completely lost in the sensations burning in his body could do nothing but moan and whimper, the pain a faint shadow in the background noise of his mind. Sherlock pressed a third slicked finger into the tight muscles, spreading John wider and wider as he worked. There was nothing for John but Sherlock, he was ensnared and even the room faded from his knowledge.

                                "Sherlock! PLEASE!" John shouted, utterly intoxicated by the moment. Sherlock smiled and let out a soft purr like growl as John begged. "No more torment, claim me! Please my love!" John urged, his toes curling into the mattress. "Use me as you wish." He pleaded.

                                "Are you _mine_?" He growled darkly, undoing his own trousers and his face close to John's. His eyes were dark and menacing, the whites barely visible.

                                "Only yours." John panted in response, trembling.

                                "You belong to me." His reply was utterly dark as he slammed his hard length deep into John, burying himself to the hilt hard and fast.

                John arched and almost released from the sensation but Sherlock bit down on his shoulder hard. The harsh pain keeping him from tumbling over the edge. He whined and groaned but Sherlock refused to let up, instead pounding their hips together with a punishing pace. John could hardly breathe. He could see nothing but his lover, his mind completely narrowed to focus only on Sherlock. Sherlock growled deeply, the noise sending shivers of terror through John. The terror seized in his chest but he was too weak to do anything to stop Sherlock. He was completely at Sherlock's mercy and was a whimpering mess as Sherlock continued to pound away into him. Without any warning Sherlock arched up and orgasmed, sending John over edge. John's body collapsed, utterly exhausted, underneath his still bucking lover. Sherlock growled down at him, his eyes pure black, his attention drifting over the bite marks on his neck.

                                "I will drink you and you will drink me..." He commanded in a feral voice and John's mind went fuzzy again. Fear flooded him but Sherlock was beyond reason and ignored it.

                Fear. Mycroft felt it flooding his senses. Fear he knew was not his own. _John._ He sat straight up in bed and threw his robe around himself. His nightclothes clinging to him as he hurried. Anthea sat up and looked at him. She looked moderately alarmed by the anger on his face, so she stood hurriedly, throwing her dressing gown around her shoulders.

                                "Lord Holmes?" She asked timidly.

                                "Send George down to the chamber. _Now_." He growled and he took off.

                Sherlock's mouth was just over John's neck, John whimpering and writhing in pain. He couldn't move, his body wouldn't respond to him. Terror was like ice in his veins as he realized that Sherlock's mind was not his own. There was nothing he could do to stop him. Their connection was hollow and aching, the thread so tight between them if felt as if it might snap. Just as Sherlock's teeth were about to break the skin on John's neck he was seized by the throat and roughly thrown across the room into the wall. Mycroft stood between John and Sherlock heaving with anger. His aura made him seem even larger than he was and John allowed himself to completely collapse as Sherlock's control was broken free. He was safe. Beside Mycroft stood a tall, burly man who was also acting as a wall between the now sputtering Sherlock and John. Sherlock growled and moved to launch himself at Mycroft but was frozen by Mycroft's outstretched hand. Mycroft using his magic to pin Sherlock to the wall.

                                "If you move I _will_ hurt you." He growled as a promise.

                                "Leave me to my mate." Sherlock growled darkly back. His eyes wide and black, anger apparent in every line of his body.

                                "I told you to feed. I commanded you to! Look what _you_ have done!" Mycroft stepped to the side so Sherlock could see John convulsing in the bed. He was almost shouting in pain and his fingers clawed into the bed clothes.

                                "J-John?" Sherlock said softly, his eyes suddenly fading from black to their normal appearance. His voice trembling. John tried to respond but the effort took too much and he sank back against the pillows panting.

                                "George take Sherlock to the feeding area, ensure he feeds appropriately, and then return him to his chambers. He is to remain there until dark fall when he may rejoin us here." Mycroft's rage was undeniable.

                                "Mycroft..." Sherlock tried to plead but he saw the look that greeted him on Mycroft's face.

                                "You have your orders. Now go." Mycroft turned and swept over to the counter in the bed chamber. He found a bottle of blood wine and filled a glass, slipping into the bed and pulling John gently into his arms. "Here little one, drink..." He whispered in a soft voice. "Please my little one..." Sherlock watched in awe, he'd never seen Mycroft be so tender with anyone save himself as a small child. He wanted to stay, to protect John but George grabbed him by the nape of his neck and hauled him from the room. John slowly opened his eyes and looked up at Mycroft, whimpering like a child. Mycroft simply smiled and cupped his head, helping him sit up and putting the glass to his lips. "There now," He whispered as John started to sip the drink. Mycroft helped him until he'd finished the cup and his trembling had subsided a bit.

                                "That tastes like you." John said softly, in a small voice.

                                "Yes, it would." He smiled. "It is made from my blood. We save it for special needs like this. It is not time for you to have my true blood yet, not until dark falls. This however will help dull the pain and ease your way a bit." He gently caressed John's cheek as he held him close. "Are you to terribly hurt?"

                                "No... He did not mean..." John tried to sit up and protest but Mycroft held him firmly.

                                "I know." He said calmly, gently running his hands over John's arms. He could feel the moment both in John's muscles and in their growing Sire/Fledgling connection the moment he began to relax. "He has not fed save what small relief he has taken from you in many days. I instructed him to feed when you slept and he did not. He put you in danger, my little one. You could have passed into shadow." He whispered tenderly, his hand cupping John's cheek and holding his gaze. "He will return to you and I will allow him to claim you when the time is right as you forgive him and I trust your judgment. However John, my little fledgling - you must promise me one thing. If ever he hurts you, you feel afraid, or if anything happens to him come back to me. I will guard and protect you." His face was close to John's and John was surprised by the desire that rose in his chest, the desire to join their lips. He blinked very slowly before licking his lips and speaking.

                                "You know so little of me yet you seem to care so much. I have never seen this side of you, Lord Holmes." His voice was soft but he tried to remain firm. Mycroft was pleased by his effort and softened more, cradling him close to his own body. Trying to help subdue the shivering that possessed him now.

                                "I know much about you, little one. I do not believe it is a secret that you have a had a zealous suitor who has been denied your hand. I was sadly denied the pleasure of you at least a dozen times." Mycroft smirked as John blushed. "I confess that I did not know you were Solvanar. However I knew you were important to my coven. Ever since you were small my people have returned to me from nights they should have perished with a story of a kind young boy who tended to their wounds like no other ever had. Someone who was born with knowledge of healing our wounds though they were only mortal. You see, little one, our kind has very few healers. Most of those who embrace the life of the night turn their back on their fellows. They seek only a life for themselves or their mates and never for those in their coven or their family. That is what made the civil war that lead to the creation of your line so deadly. I sought to bring you to this life before Sherlock was even aware of you. I wanted to train you and perfect you so when you were ready the transition would feel natural." He sighed a bit wistfully and sat back, caressing his cheek with his hand.

                                "You were the suitor my Uncle told me of." John said quietly, as he realized it was the truth. "The one who would not take no for an answer. The one who began asking when I was but eleven. He never would tell me who it was."

                                "No, he would not. I asked him not to." He tensed, his mouth thinning into a grimace. "You see I discovered how you felt for my brother. How he felt for you. It was then I understood that you were not to be mine no matter how much I desired it. I need your word John Hamish Watson, that if something should happen you will come back to me." He whispered, his mouth barely apart from John's. "I will not see you fall to shadow. I want you in our family and I want to see you enjoy the ages of the world at our sides. I will always protect you, I will always guard you."

                                "I promise, Mycroft. If for some reason something should happen to Sherlock or if he crosses any lines I shall come to you." His voice was thick as their eyes locked. John could read how Mycroft yearned for him and he wanted to unite their mouths but he hesitated.

                                "You are not betraying him for wanting to touch me." Mycroft said softly, smiling as John blushed. He trailed one finger over John's cheek. "He knows that fledglings often feel strongly for their sires." He pressed his mouth to John's claiming it in a tender but powerful kiss that threatened to obliterate John's mind. He moaned softly and it took a long time for him to finally pull away. "He is jealous of that bond, however he does not yet understand how powerful the connection between you two will be."

                                "Why did you not take me last evening?" John forced out, his shivering slowly subsiding.

                                "You did not want me to." Mycroft said simply, a smirk on his face. "I will never force you to do something you wish not to. Others I would, not you. Never you, my little vampire."

                                "I feel as if this is a dream." John said softly, pulling back but only a short bit away. "Rumors of your character, the things I have seen you say and do in court, and the feelings I see in the faces of your colleagues generally do not agree with this side of you." His tentatively reached up, his hand softly connecting with Mycroft's cheek. He smiled again.

                                "You are not wrong. I must be cold and calculating in court and with my coven. I must maintain the balance that is so carefully constructed like the spiders' web. However I am fond of you and as I confessed only moments ago have been for a long time. Sherlock has given you darkness and it has caused you pain, now you need tenderness to ease it. I did not consider myself capable of providing it myself which is why I left you in his care for the daylight hours, it seems I was terribly mistaken." He gently let his hand slide from cupping John's cheek to lifting his chin, pulling him slowly into another soft kiss.

                He took his time, letting John ease into the moment before he pressed his tongue forward to part John's kiss bruised lips and give way to Mycroft's desire to explore him. John hummed softly as Mycroft leaned closer to him, a gentle dominance beginning to show in his movements.             John could still feel the pain - unlike when Sherlock was with him, but the touches seemed to force his mind to focus on Mycroft. His mind was too overwhelmed to multitask in the moment. Mycroft seemed to understand because he shifted and followed as John lay back on the bed. He kept kissing him, their mouths working together in a slow but heated pace until John whimpered with desire. Mycroft pulled back and looked down at him, gently brushing his sandy hair from his eyes.

                                "Why does touch make the pain stop?" John asked quietly as he caught his breath, his eyes unbreakably locked with Mycroft's.

                                "It narrows your focus. Your body is overwhelmed with sensation right now much of it pain as the vampire blood converts your body into one of us. Sherlock was not wrong in wanting to love you in order to help you." He gently ran his hands over John's arms and chest, eliciting a soft sigh of pleasure from him. He closed his eyes and groaned.

                                "And the lust?"

                                "Ah," Mycroft said quietly and John slowly let his eyes open to see the slight blush on Mycroft's cheeks. "That is my fault. Since I gave you my blood while I was feeling arousal it will make you rather susceptible to what is called 'blood passion' for awhile." He cleared his throat. "It should subside by the time you and Sherlock return from your bonding in Paris."

                                "He tormented me, claimed me for what felt like ages, and yet I am burning again." He grabbed Mycroft's arm and pulled him down. "Touch me more, please."

                                "Oh John, my little one, you do not know what you ask of me." He whispered and leaned down letting their mouths connect again. Mycroft let his hand trail over John's neck, shoulders, arms, and chest. Offering fluttering touches that caressed his skin and his aura as they went. John groaned softly, trying to push up into Mycroft's touch but Mycroft simply held him in place. He cradled John's face again, his hand on John's right cheek, slowly pulling their lips apart.         "I would love nothing more than to lay claim to you, my darling. Alas I cannot. You are Sherlock's mate and without him present I will not do anything to compromise that. Sleep now, let your body rest as it changes. I will stay here and hold you. When night falls and Sherlock returns together we will show you just how incredibly special you are." John whimpered again but Mycroft kissed him several times to silence his protests. He wrapped John in the blanket carefully, situating him against his own body and caressing his back until he felt him sink into a deep sleep.

                Sherlock was going insane he could feel the lust in his mates' body, he could feel the tenderness, the ache that was growing. It was maddening. He was going to storm back into the chamber, he would have John for himself - but George stopped him again. Once Sherlock fed from one of the many servants the Holmes family employed to provide safe means for the coven to feed, George led him to his room and locked him in. He raged about for a few minutes before sinking down on the bed and letting out several tears of frustration.

                                " _Brother, do not anger yourself so. I have not violated your mate._ " Mycroft's voice reached him as he lay back on his bed. He felt his mind slowly becoming his own again, the blood easing the feral creature within.

                                " _Is he injured?_ "

                                " _No. He is not, thankfully. You lost control. This is the second time Sherlock. You cannot continue these dangerous experiments. You must feed as required! Sherlock, surely by now you understand he is a mender. A mender! He is a Solvanar, a mender, and he accepts you for who you are! Our kind has not had many competent healers since the war of the original covens. He is your mate! He is vitally important. Do you understand how close you came to losing him_? _How close **we** came to losing him because of you?!_ " Mycroft's voice was anxious and stern.

                                " _Losing him? He..._ " Sherlock responded, furrowing his brow in confusion.

                                " _He is going through the change. You masked all his pain which meant that when your spell lifted he felt all of it at once! All that horrible pain, all at once. He is sleeping now, peacefully though he wanted me to make the pain stop. He wanted the tenderness you should have given him. However I respect you brother and I will not take your claim._ "

                                " _Though you tried! I know about those requests Mycroft. I saw the memories of them in his blood. They were you were they not?_ " Sherlock's voice was a low growl, he was tense laying in his bed. He drummed his fingers angrily against the table beside his bed, his attention focused and narrow. He slowly stopped and pulled his hands together holding them below his chin as he focused.

                                " _They were, however you also will notice that once I became aware of your connection I did not press the issue further. I respect the bond the two of you have, Sherlock. I know what it must mean to see that bond fulfilled. However I will promise you this right now, brother, if you do not cherish him I will._ " Mycroft growled as he finished the words, tightening his arms around John protectively. John mumbled softly, so Mycroft pressed a gentle kiss to his head and caressed his arms to reassure him.

                                " _I will cherish him, if you allow me to._ " It was a childish reply but Sherlock was angry and sulking.

                                " _Tonight we shall take him together. Rest now, when we drain him I want to see him pinned between our bodies. He will claim you and I shall take him._ "

                                " _Claim... Me_?" Mycroft smirked at the glimmer of fear in his brother's tone.

                                " _Yes, you are his mate. Thus he should have an equal claim of you as you do of him, brother. So tonight we will show him what it is like to be loved by the Holmes brothers. It is only fitting that I should get to claim him at least once. You know he will be bound to me. Not as strongly as he is to you, however still bound to me. You should also know that I will always protect him and should anything happen to you I will keep him safe until you are able to protect him again. I will not let harm come to him._ "

                                " _I suppose I owe you a thank you then._ "

                                " _I suppose you do. Rest now._ "

                Mycroft woke John a few hours later and gave him another glass of the blood wine, several deep kisses, and comforting touches until he slipped back to sleep against him. He pressed gentle kisses over John's face, eyes, cheeks, and neck until he felt him slip back into that deep, dreamless sleep. He then stood and moved to the desk in the room. He began writing, formulating his strategies for John's training once he returned from his trip with Sherlock. It would be difficult for them to stage his absence without letting Moriarty and Sebastian Moran's coven know that he was gone, but it was important to do so. Sherlock was still young, wild, and untamed. He needed this bond finalized before they could move further - otherwise things would simply fall apart. He worked for an hour or so and then slipped back into bed beside John, pulling him close and dosing off until night fell.

                                "John?" Sherlock's voice was soft, he knelt beside the bed and gently, almost timidly reached out to touch his lover's cheek.

                                "There you are." John smiled warmly as he slowly pulled himself from his sleepy state. Mycroft gently released his arm from around John's waist.

                                "I am so very sorry." Sherlock whispered, looking down. John's hand found his cheek.

                                "It was not your intention, I understand. You have to feed more often." John said it as forcefully as he could, groaning as a wave of pain washed through him.

                                "I will, I promise." Sherlock smiled but his anxiety still rolled through both of their chests. John nodded understanding the feeling they were sharing and slowly sat up.

                                "You two look beautiful cuddled together, I am surprised by the sight." Sherlock whispered and smiled as John blushed.

                                "I do not feel worthy of all these attentions." John confessed.

                                "Oh but you are." Mycroft purred and kissed over the back of his neck. John groaned, falling back against Mycroft's chest.

                                "You are worth more than you know, my beloved." Sherlock smiled and he climbed into the bed with them, pressing passionate kisses to his lovers mouth. Kisses that pleaded for forgiveness even as they inspired lust.

                                "Oh..." John whimpered, weakly clawing into both of them. "Oh God..."

                                "Hush, my little one." Mycroft purred in his ear, leaning back to remove his shirt. "We have all night and you must give your blood to us again."

                                "Oh take it..." John whispered as Sherlock nipped his ear and neck.

                                "Do not be so hasty." Sherlock teased, slipping out of his dressing robe - which was all he was wearing.

                                "I can feel your need, the need in both of you." John whimpered, his eyes closed. Mycroft shifted out of his sleeping clothes and his under things so the three of them were naked in the bed together. John perfectly between them.

                Sherlock pressed his body to John's front, their half hard erections contacting and making both of them moan loudly. Mycroft pressed against John from behind, moaning loudly as John instantly tilted his head to the side with a soft whimpering moan. Mycroft pressed his lips to John's neck, lathing attention over it as Sherlock again claimed his mouth. Both of them kissing him with slow burning heat. It did not take long before John was a mess of whimpers and moans, his hips bucking slightly into Sherlock's. Sherlock automatically responded, the two of them setting a hesitant and distracted rhythm as they tried to keep their mouths joined. Mycroft groaned and forced them to stop.

                                "John," He purred in his ear. "I want to take you. I want to take you while you take Sherlock. May I have your permission?" He caressed John's sides, waiting tensely for the answer. John's gaze flicked up to Sherlock's and silently he nodded his acceptance. John flushed.

                                "Oh God yes..." He whispered, clawing into Sherlock's legs.

                                "Sherlock lay down." Mycroft commanded. He picked up the oil and pressing himself back behind John, positioned him over his lover. "Here, prepare him." Mycroft purred in his ear, slicking oil over his fingers before guiding John's hand down and removing his own. John gasped and almost lost his focus when Mycroft's slick finger pressed against him. Sherlock whimpered as John groaned, their lust passing easily between them via their bond. John understood, Mycroft was going to show him how to properly do this. He took a shaking breath and gently pushed a finger against the tight, quivering ring of muscle that Sherlock seemed keen to hide.

                                "Come on my love, let me touch you." John purred, leaning down to kiss Sherlock as he finally pressed in. The two of them moaned loudly, the feeling growing and shifting between them until John was bucking back against Mycroft's hand and Sherlock was whimpering.

                                "More!" Sherlock demanded, arching his back off the bed.

                                "He is ready for more." Mycroft's voice rumbled against John's throat as John leaned up into his touch. Mycroft pressed another slick finger inside of John who shouted and mirrored every movement he made on Sherlock. "Oh you are such a perfect little caretaker." He purred the praises in his ear. John turned so he could kiss Mycroft hard, Sherlock groaning as he watched them. Seeing his lover under his brother's control was far more thrilling than it ought to be. John moved his fingers, bucking his hips without thinking. Sherlock whimpered.

                                "God this is torment!" He shouted.

                                "And yet you scolded your lover for being hasty. Calm yourself, brother - you must be properly prepared for someone as large as your mate." John shouted as Mycroft pushed a third finger into him and it took him a minute to recover enough to reciprocate on Sherlock.

                                "Oh! I feel like I am going to explode." John grunted, shaking from head to toe. His mouth fell to Sherlock's again as he leaned over him, grinding back onto Mycroft's fingers and pushing his deeper into Sherlock.

                                "Are you ready John?" Mycroft asked quietly and John simply shook his head. "Answer me." He growled, digging his nails into John's ass. John shouted and moaned.

                                "Yes, please take me. Please!"

                                "John!" Sherlock groaned. Mycroft smiled wider and positioned himself behind John guiding him into Sherlock. "Oh! It is so much!" His head fell back against the pillow as John sank into him fully. John groaned and whimpered before shouting as Mycroft pressed into him. Mycroft held him firm so he could focus on his cock buried in Sherlock and Mycroft's in him. His head went foggy and he moaned again as Sherlock shifted up slightly. There was nothing else in the world but the overwhelming sensation of being pinned between the brothers.

                                "Move." Mycroft commanded pulling back and then pushing forward so he drove John back into Sherlock. Both of them shouting in pleasure. John followed him eagerly, almost as if on command and gave Mycroft control of the situation.

                Mycroft set the pace, a soft but determined speed that drove both of the lovers insane. Slowly he built John up and then stopped, forcing him to stop as well, before beginning again. Then just as he felt John's body begin to tighten he sank his teeth into John's exposed neck. John and Sherlock shouted as they tumbled over the edge together and within a few moments Mycroft followed behind, his mouth still latched onto John's neck. Sherlock sat up, gently letting John fall out of him before taking a spot on his chest to bite down and help Mycroft drink him. John sagged against them, his eyes again half closed and Sherlock carefully shifted him down onto the bed. Mycroft sliced his wrist open and pressed it to John's mouth groaning loudly as John eagerly began to drink. He let John drink for longer than the night before and slowly pulled away. Admiring him for a moment before leaning down to kiss his bloodstained lips. Sherlock tensed but allowed the kiss, knowing that jealousy of John's bond with Mycroft would become poison to their own bond. John clung to Sherlock's shoulder as he buried his face against his chest, panting for breath and struggling to remain awake.

                                "Sleep now little one," Mycroft whispered, caressing down John's back with his soft fluttering touches. "Sherlock will guard you now and I will return shortly. We will keep you safe."

                                "Do not stray far," John pleaded as he sank to sleep, Sherlock's arm tightly around him.

                                " _Oh he is such a precious soul, brother._ " Mycroft's voice was a whisper. " _I shall return in only a few moments. I must go feed._ "

                                " _I drank quite a bit, thanks to the order you gave George. I am safe now. Go and return quickly for as much as I don't like it he seems fond of you._ " Sherlock sighed and ran his fingers through John's hair, smiling at the soft murmurs that came from his lovers lips.

                                " _I told you, I shall guard him if you cannot. I will treasure him for all the ages of the world. You do not understand the value of him, not the way I do. One wrong move from you and I shall not hesitate to take him. I will return._ " Mycroft swept out of the room with the aid of George.

                Sherlock whispered soft comforting words to John as he stroked his hair, two fingers gently tracing their way over his cheek. The smile on his face was one of pure adoration, one he reserved only for the most important of things. When Mycroft returned several minutes later he found Sherlock asleep, John against him, and that smile still on his brother's face. It pleased him to see such a smile on his brother's face but he noted the pain that crossed John's brow. John was awake, his eyes open and terrified. Mycroft sat down and John retreated to his arms, curling up like a kitten in his lap. Sherlock however did not wake.

                                "You are in pain." Mycroft said quietly and John shook his head slightly.

                                "It is too noisy." He replied hoarsely.

                                "Oh, my little one..." Mycroft said in a breathless voice. "The change moves quickly through you. Your body has changed and now your mind must catch up." He whispered the words, noting that Sherlock shifted but remained asleep. "Come, let us clean you up." He motioned to George who stepped into a large bathing room. It contained a large Roman style bath.

                Mycroft had engineered it so that the cooking fire used to make food for the mortal servants and to heat the house ran underneath of it, making the tub maintain a warm temperature during the evenings. He gently cradled John in his arms as George returned with an elegant sleeping robe and draped it over a chair in the bath room. Mycroft nodded and George returned to Sherlock to guard him as he slept. Mycroft slowly set John in the tub before following him in, holding him close without doing anything else for the moment.

                                "Oh,  it is warm." John said stupidly and Mycroft ran his fingers through his hair.

                                "This will be a tiring day for you, my little love." He whispered, slowly running water over his body.  "Your mind must navigate how to adjust to your new senses and abilities. You may have nightmares, but Sherlock and I will keep you safe." He found one of his favorite soaps and took his time to lather John up, washing him gently as he did.

                                "Everything is bright and loud, except for you." John whispered, his hand gently coming to rest on Mycroft's cheek, his actions somewhat child like.

                                "What am I?" He asked his tone clearly amused and interested.

                                "Soft and beautiful." John blushed but kept their eyes locked. Mycroft couldn't resist and he leaned forward and kissed John passionately. John groaning as his back met the edge of the tub.

                Mycroft set the soap down, his hands finding their way into John's hair and wrapping him in a strong embrace. He kept their mouths moving together, a sort of frenzied passion building between them as their bodies absorbed the warmth of the water and flushed with their efforts. Mycroft tugged on his hair, exposing his neck which he covered with kisses. A low feral sort of growl rumbled from John's throat as he first struggled and then consented to Mycroft's work.  He groaned as his little fledgling gave him dominance and continued to kiss all over his neck, chest, and jaw before finding his lips and claiming them anew. He felt John's erection hardening between them and brushing against his own reawakened cock. It did not take long before the two of them were bucking against each other, their mouths moving furiously as they did.

                                "Mycroft..." John blushed and whimpered, causing him to stop.

                                "Yes my little mender?"

                                "Will you take me again?" He flushed red and Mycroft smiled. He pulled him up out of the tub and lay him on a rug on the floor, he retreated to the bedroom finding the oil and ensuring Sherlock was not laying there brooding. Sufficiently pleased his brother was still asleep, he returned to his groaning fledgling and coated his fingers and his cock with oil.

                                "Are you sure you want this, my little one?" Mycroft asked softly, leaning down to kiss him with a bruising force.

                                "Yes, please." He whimpered in reply, kissing him fervently. Mycroft pushed into him slowly, waiting until John whimpered to begin moving.

                The sensation was overwhelming, John was so different than any other lover Mycroft had taken. So desperate for their mutual pleasure, so sensitive to touch... John keened and whimpered as he wrapped around Mycroft, letting him guide the pace. Mycroft went slowly, using every movement to seal inside John's mind and body the fact that no matter what he had a home in Mycroft's heart. He leaned down and pressed their mouths together again, keeping the contact until both of them began to shout. He slowed to a steady, feverish pace and worked in his little lover for what felt like an age. The moment stretched out and it was a long time before they both collided in a fierce kiss and rode the peak of their orgasm into a flushed silence. Mycroft slowly pulled out of John, panting a bit as he looked down into the eyes of his mender. John felt a soft moan rise in his chest at the look on Mycroft's face, it was so full of adoration - so pure it made him want to melt. It was startlingly different from how Sherlock looked at him and he found that love bubbled up in his chest for his Sire. He watched as Mycroft smiled, realizing that John finally accepted that no matter what Mycroft would always care for him. Mycroft slowly pulled him back in the tub, cleaning them both up before drying him off. He wrapped him gently in the elegant robe and carried him back to the bed where he placed him snuggly against Sherlock. John reached for him and Mycroft simply smiled, blowing out the candle beside the bed before slipping in the beside him. Sherlock's arm instantly moved to wrap around John which Mycroft mirrored thus securing John between his two lovers. John's last thought before he sank into a deep sleep was how beautiful it was having the love of not one but both the Holmes men and how eternity would not be long enough to treasure it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea who John will end up with after everything is said and done. There will be a few more chapters set in this initial time frame before we skip ahead. Kudos/Comments always appreciated!


	3. Unions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's transformation is almost complete and there are just a few things remaining to take care of before he belongs completely to his new family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dear readers! I am so sorry for the delay what with the holidays, series 3, and the beginning of a new semester! I have so much of this story already planned out but getting it down on the page has proven a bit difficult. I will try to get the next chapter up ASAP!
> 
> Just a reminder italics within quotations are telepathic conversation.

                Mycroft was the first to wake several hours after sunrise. He knew the time by the noise of the servants moving throughout the house. He slowly looked over and saw that Sherlock was also awake, his eyes focused on Mycroft with a sort of deep stare - as if trying to look through him. Mycroft bore his attention simply as he pulled himself out of the bed. John barely shifted, in a deep comfortable sleep as his body processed the next stages of his rebirth. Mycroft gently caressed John's cheek before pulling his dressing gown on. Sherlock sat up, noting that John barely registered his shift and pulled his own robe on. He stretched and Mycroft walked over to the desk area, sitting down in a large arm chair. Sherlock took the one across from him, both of them able to watch John.

                                " _You took him did you not?_ " Sherlock's voice was tinged with jealousy as it echoed in Mycroft's mind. Sherlock could feel Mycroft's energy on John's body as he focused on his lover.

                                " _With his permission and at his insistence yes I did. Does that upset you, brother?_ " His tone was smug as he turned to look at him. Sherlock put his hands under his chin as he was want to do when thinking.

                                " _It does, however I can easily see I have little choice in the matter. He is bonded with you and you would see that he accepts that bond fully. You seem woefully convinced I shall let him out of my grasp. He is my mate, Mycroft. Not yours._ " His eyes flashed but his body language remained relaxed.

                                " _I am fully aware that he is your bondmate. I am also aware that you nearly killed him with jealousy and anger. Would you rather I maintain distance from him so that should something happen to you he is alone? Would that serve your heart better, my jealous brother?_ " His tone cut and his eyes hardened as he turned to face Sherlock fully, so that his body now also face him.

                                " _You are mocking me and I do not appreciate it, Mycroft. You have had countless lovers. You have Anthea and George and when the occasion arises even the Duke visits with you. However it now seems you are set on having my mate as your own plaything. He is not a toy. He is not someone to be used for a century and then cast aside. A bond with you will only serve to hurt him in the end, mark my words._ " John mumbled something softly, leaning over and pulling Sherlock's pillow to his chest before sinking back to sleep. Sherlock tensed and moved to stand but remained in his place when John did not move again.

                                " _He is free to choose his own path, brother. If he should wish to be a lover to us both you have no right to refuse him. I will never knowingly hurt him. You act as if you think my mate will suddenly appear and I will simply cast the little mender to the side. It shall never be as such. You shall have to learn to curtail this jealousy or it will be the death of you. Emotion such as those rolling through you now will lead to your downfall. Moriarty will seek to capitalize on your connection and if you can only act like a child whose toy is in another's grasp you will fall._ "

                John slowly woke because he felt like something was buzzing in his ears. He did not open his eyes for a long moment, letting his hearing take precedence. He could hear the footsteps of others above him, the sound of voices chattering away about nothing, and if he was not mistaken even the sound of the rain falling outside on the sidewalk. The bed felt different against his body, the elegant robe Mycroft had given him was soft and delicious against his sensitive skin. The pillow brushing his cheek felt strangely rough in places but soft in others. He could smell Sherlock and Mycroft, though their scents were faint and further away than he expected when he first woke. Each breath brought smells and tastes into his awareness until his brain seemed to be spinning with effort. He groaned softly only to find that two very different touches fell on his arm and back simultaneously.

                                "Are you in much pain?" Sherlock's voice was soft, his tone hummed. Never before had John truly understood the deep mahogany quality of it and he rolled the sound over and over in his mind for a long moment before speaking. He opened his eyes slowly and looked up into his lovers, noting how much more enchanting they were with his improved sight.

                                "No pain... Too much sensation." He replied gently, closing his eyes again.

                                "That is to be expected little one, I am glad however the pain has passed." Mycroft's voice was so different to Sherlock's and John's face betrayed him as he registered surprise. He rolled Mycroft's words over and over in his mind until he could easily separate out his tones from Sherlock's.

                                "Sound has feeling." John replied as an observation, rolling onto his back and looking at the two of them. "Colors are deeper, smells thick, and scents taste."

                                "Yes, my love." Sherlock smiled enjoying John walking through the change aloud. "Your senses are far beyond that of a mortal now. Tonight you will take your final drink from your Sire and when you awaken after that you will be a full fledgling."

                                "Which is where I should interject." Mycroft spoke softly but firmly. "You will have to remain inside this manor for the first month. While you get your feet under you as it were. The sun will weaken you too much initially for you to be able to adequately protect yourself. There is to be a dinner gathering at your Uncles near the end of the month, you and Sherlock will attend on our behalf and you shall, my little mender, ask your Uncle for permission to be courted by Sherlock. He will of course grant you permission and when you return I will have everything prepared for your journey to Paris." Mycroft helped John sit up as Sherlock adjusted the pillows for him. He slowly looked between them for a moment.

                                "You have been arguing again." His voice was quiet as he could not handle the loudness of it just yet.

                                "Why do you say that?" Sherlock asked quickly, cutting Mycroft off.

                                "I can see it in your faces. There is also a lingering sort of echo in our bond, a connection made between you two. I believe I felt it before when Mycroft was with me and you were in your room. You were speaking silently." John sounded thoughtful as he spoke, analyzing the feeling.

                                "Oh you are clever." Sherlock purred.

                                "I shall leave you in Sherlock's care for now. I must write to your family and ask them to pay us a visit tomorrow. We must discuss with them payment for your hand." Mycroft smirked and leaned forward, he kissed John passionately his pleasure growing as John made soft noises. The feel of their skin touching was even more intensely magnified than before he went to sleep. It stirred fire deep inside of his body. John groaned as Mycroft pulled away. "Do not fear my little vampire, I shall return." He grinned at Sherlock and swept from the room, Anthea meeting him at the door.

                                "He tries my patience." Sherlock whispered before leaning forward to claim his mouth in a soft kiss. "I am truly sorry for my behavior yesterday, my beloved." His voice was soft as he leaned their foreheads together. "It was unforgiveable and the fact that you grant me forgiveness proves you are far worthier than I am." He ran his hands up gently through John's hair, smiling as John let out a soft sigh of absolute pleasure.

                                "Oh that feels even more incredible." He closed his eyes, moaning softly. Sherlock only smiled and continued.

                                "I love hearing you describe how you're feeling." He smirked more, leaning in to press soft kisses over his ear.

                                "Oh Sherlock..." He moaned softly.

                                "You are tired still, are you not?" Sherlock leaned into him, pulling him close. "Let us rest more. Mycroft will return soon enough and he will stay with us through the evening."

                                "Are you not concerned about facing my family? They will believe you to be my fiancé."

                                "I do not care. They are not worthy of a man such as you. I will be yours and you will be mine." He nuzzled his face against John's cheek, enjoying the soft sighs.

                They spent the whole of the day cuddled together. Mycroft eventually joined them and they all slept until well after dark. Sherlock woke first set immediately to work on bringing John into consciousness by planting kisses all over his body. John groaned loudly as Sherlock's lips and tongue flitted over his hips. Mycroft slowly opened an eye and grinned, seeing how John was already melting under Sherlock's work. He pulled John to him, kissing him deeply and ghosting his hands over his chest. John whimpered and gave in to their control, not fighting it. He moaned louder as they worked, Sherlock's mouth slipping over his awakening erection until he was achingly hard.

                                "Oh my God. That is so powerful.." John's head fell back as he lost his focus, the sensations overwhelming him.

                                "Just wait." Mycroft promised. He looked down at Sherlock who nodded eagerly. Mycroft handed him the oil and he prepared himself while Mycroft prepared John.

                John whimpered, utterly unable to move. Simply writhing under Mycroft's work. He buried his fingers deep inside John's ass, scissoring and moving them until he was whimpering with need. Sherlock alternated between focusing on himself and letting his wicked tongue work on John's cock before Mycroft finally motioned to him. It took them some time but they arranged it so John was pinned between then again. John's cock buried to the hilt in Sherlock and Mycroft almost panting as he buried himself inside John. John shuddered almost violently when they both were seated in and on him and then groaned as they both began to move. He clawed Sherlock, his hands the only thing responding to his control as they drove him to a new realm of bliss. Every single touch, every breath, every sound felt so different. He felt like he wasn't even inside his body anymore. It was surreal. Sherlock's moans in one ear, Mycroft's groans in the other. They all vibrated in his body, forcing his own moans to become lower and more feral. He was desperate to release but fought it with everything he had, he fought it to keep feeling this incredible sensation. Mycroft let his lips find John's shoulders, growling with John as he nipped and licked a path up to his ear and back down again. Sherlock leaned back, moving his hips so that he drove John into Mycroft. Mycroft pushed back, alternating Sherlock's rhythm so that John felt like he was vibrating between them.

                                "Oh God... You are incredible." Mycroft purred in his ear.

                                "I cannot feel where I end and either of you begin. My skin feels like air." John panted in response.

                                "Are you ready?" Sherlock asked him, leaning up to kiss him.

                                "Yes, God yes." John pleaded. They both moved harder and he was finally able to help, grunting as he did. It was not long before he shouted their names so loud it echoed off the walls and released, just as Mycroft again sank his teeth into John's neck.

                John shuddered as Mycroft released inside of him and Sherlock's thick seed spilled over their chests. Sherlock pulled him into a kiss, not drinking from him. Instead letting Mycroft finalize their bond completely. John did not go limp between them this time, though  weakness did settle in. Sherlock watched transfixed as Mycroft turned John to face him and tilted his head, offering his neck.

                                "Feel it in your body," Mycroft whispered as a command. "Feel the hunger rise." His voice was low, purring against John's ear. John felt his focus narrow, all he could feel was the hunger. "Your teeth want to change, feel it." John closed his eyes and felt how his entire body forced his energy forward. Forced the need to focus. "Yes my little vampire, come on..." Mycroft groaned as John leaned forward and sank his teeth into Mycroft's neck. Both of them groaning deeply. Sherlock moaned lowly. John felt fire throughout his body and absently began moving his hips, Mycroft pumping into him with his still hard erection. "Yes, that is good. Keep going." Mycroft finally pulled back as they both shouted and released, John falling back against Sherlock.

                                "Oh he is perfect." Sherlock whispered in awe as John lay panting against him.

                                "He is complete. All that remains is your bond, however you cannot complete that now. We must speak with his family tomorrow." Mycroft stood and kissed John's forehead. He grunted and grabbed for him but he couldn't reach him. "No my little one. You stay and rest. Sherlock will protect you." Mycroft nodded to his brother. Sherlock pulled John to him and sank back against the headboard.

                                "You fed all on your own this time." He praised and John looked up at him with an eager and blush tinged face.

                                "Is it always so... Intimate?"

                                "For you it will be." He cupped his cheek. "Since my brother took your blood and gave you his during acts of arousal. Do not worry, I shall endeavor to make _very_ good use of that." Sherlock leaned over and kissed him hard, their tongues fighting for dominance. Sherlock growled lowly as he tasted his brother's blood in his lovers mouth.

                                "He claimed me as a prize, you let him." John teased, Sherlock grunted and pushed him down.

                                "I am well fed and strong, do not tempt my jealousy now." He warned but he kissed John again all the same.

                                "Reclaim what is yours." John begged, fire still raging in his veins. Sherlock leaned up to search his eyes before leaning back down and kissing him furiously.

                                "This appetite of yours will require some taming." He growled against his ear but he slicked his own hard erection with oil before slamming into John.

                                "You enjoyed watching me drink of him, did you not?" John demanded, groaning Sherlock's name. Sherlock moved slowly, painfully slowly - drawing out John's torment. "Sherlock!"

                                "Oh I did, however only in so much as watching you drink another's blood can be. I do not enjoy your bond with my brother. I also know I cannot stop it." Their lips met again with bruising passion as Sherlock slowly, painfully slowly worked in his lover.

                                "Oh God, you are a demon." John grunted, wrapping around him.

                                "Yours." Sherlock growled back, his breath washing over John's cheeks as he kissed over them. The urge to drink from John grew in his chest but he fought it, knowing John was not ready for that step. Their lust spiraled off the other, building in their bodies.

                Sherlock kept their slow feverish pace and they went on for hours, the sounds of their moans echoing off the walls of the room as they tumbled over the edge of release again and again. Sherlock kept John awake and on the edge of reason until they both saw stars, collapsing in a sticky, sweaty heap and disappearing from the world for a long time. When their brains finally restarted it was all they could do to arrange themselves in some comfortable fashion and utterly collapsed. They sank to sleep almost immediately knowing they would absolutely have to bathe when they woke. Sherlock's arms protectively around his lovers body, clutching him tightly. John's face pressed to Sherlock's chest so their bodies wound together like the thread of their bond. The slept soundly, not waking until Anthea came to rouse them around lunchtime the next day.

                                "You two must get up now." Anthea said softly, grinning as she did. "And clean up. John's family is on their way to us and Mycroft demands you dress him to showcase his new nobility."

                                "As he wishes." Sherlock said in a grumbled voice, pulled John up and kissing him. "Come now my beloved, let me show you what it means to belong to a Holmes."

                Sherlock and John bathed and pulled on their dressing gowns before Sherlock took John to his... No their room. He dug around in his closet until he found something that John could wear and helped him dress. John paused watching Sherlock look at him, Sherlock motioned to the mirror and John smirked as he looked over his reflection.

                                "Another carefully constructed falsehood." Sherlock barked, digging through his clothes.

                                "My skin is so clean." John whispered, touching his face. His eyes were glowing and the color of the outfit Sherlock picked made him look like a prince. The transformation had really made him beautiful if he did say so himself.

                                "You do look beautiful." Sherlock said quietly, smirking as John blushed.

                                "Ah yes I forgot, Sherlock Holmes is in my head now."

                                "Head, heart, soul, and bed." Sherlock corrected him, finishing dressing himself and coming to stand beside him. He fixed his hair and smiled. John returned the favor. "Ready to face your family?"

                                "They are family in word only. I shall only be sad to see my sister go."

                Sherlock pulled John into a slow, passionate kiss just before Anthea knocked on the door. John opened it and stepped out. She smiled fondly at him, reaching over to gently push a piece of his hair into place.

                                "I am pleased you are one of us now." She whispered.

                                "It will be far easier to keep you healed." He smiled back.

                She led the way down to the dining room where John could already hear the voices of his father, mother, and sister. When they entered the room it took all Sherlock had not to put his arm protectively around John and to remain somewhat distant. Mycroft smiled at John, giving him a look of pure heat. He obviously approved of Sherlock's choice of clothing.

                                "John, you look handsome." His mother spoke as she stood and hugged him. "We were worried. We had not heard from you in days."

                                "My apologies mother, I have been busy with my training. I was unable to contact you." John replied gently, her eyes going wide.

                                "He is an able and quick student." Mycroft praised, enjoying the slight flush on John's cheeks.

                                "He is already quite knowledgeable in many areas." Sherlock added. John looked up towards the door and tensed, drawing Sherlock's attention easily. Mycroft too felt the shift and looked up at his fledgling to read his looks.

                                “ _Moriarty is here._ ” He didn’t look at Sherlock, but his voice carried easily as it rippled through his mind. Sherlock was impressed with John’s ability already, he had not expected John to be able to communicate without training. He did not know however that Solvanar training provided him an advantage to this new life. He looked to Mycroft who nodded that he understood.

                                “Ah, yes Lord Moriarty asked to accompany us to visit you.” John’s father spoke and motioned for the man to join them. "He had to attend to the carriage."

                                "I apologize for the delay, I was looking over your horses. Beautiful creatures." Moriarty grinned, his voice betraying a bit of his nature as he bounded into the room. “Lord Holmes, it is a pleasure.” He said with forced sentiment, glaring at Mycroft. His attention then easily shifting to where John and Sherlock stood close enough together to provide a clue as to their relationship. "And my," He said with a smirk in his voice and a dark look in his eyes, "What a pretty picture you two are." He smirked again purring the words like a child at Christmas.

                                “And you as well.” Mycroft said guardedly. “To what do I owe the honor?” He stood and moved forward so that he was between his brother and the intruder.

                                “I just wanted to ensure my future cousin was being _well_ taken care of.” He replied coolly, his eyes flashing over John. John could feel the force of Jim trying to push his way into his mind but he easily repelled it. His pendant flashing slightly.

                                “I can assure you, Lord Moriarty, the Holmes have been pure gentlemen and have cared for my every need without me so much as considering a want for _anything_.” John was definitely defensive but his tone was soft. His eyes firm and focused as he stood defiantly in the face of danger.

                                “I am rather impressed.” His mother spoke quietly. “The changes in your manner so far are incredible,” She sighed. "You have become so refined in so short a period." Her tone was curt, disbelieving, and John flushed just slightly.

                                “Yes, he learns quickly when given proper motivation.” Mycroft’s tone was cool, defending John easily. "I was not wrong to find favor in his desire for knowledge and I am most pleased to see that the Duke has an accurate impression of his potential."

                                "Yes, he does rather favor the little one, doesn't he?" Moriarty grinned.

                                "Quite." Mycroft's mouth thinned into a small line, focusing his attention on John's parents.

                                "So John, does this mean you will not be returning home?" His father asked softly, seemingly confused.

                                "It is my intention to remain here so long as the two Lords shall let me. I have much to learn from them and no usefulness at your manor." He snapped, his tone dark.

                                "What of your social requirements?" His mother demanded softly, looking upset.

                                "Well that is quite the right moment for me to interrupt I believe." Mycroft smiled but it came off as somewhat dark, his attention turning to John's father directly. "You see Lord Watson it has come to my attention that my younger brother has rather taken an interest in your only son. As my brother has spent the whole of his life choosing to ignore the attentions of others this makes your son rather important in the scheme of my brother's life. Naturally that makes it of utmost importance that I work with you to secure John's hand for my brother's taking." John's sister smirked just slightly, hiding behind her handkerchief as Moriarty glared at John. Her pleased smile was the only one they got, instead his mother looked livid.

                                “I should think the Duke…” Moriarty began, John tensing as he did.

                                “Would ask John and his family first,” Mycroft chided, cutting him off. “As you can clearly see the young Lord Watson’s disposition is welcoming of my brother’s intentions. So once we know where you stand, Lord Watson,” Mycroft looked directly at John’s father. “I may send word to the Duke to secure his.”

                                “You wish to marry my son?” The man asked Sherlock who simply nodded before stepping forward and looking at him directly.

                                “I have prided myself the whole of my life in never holding the smallest of affection for another outside of my own family. It was on the whole the mark of my character and I was quite proud of the reputation it gave me in court. However I came to find that I have never in my life met someone so amazing as he. I want nothing more than to spend the rest of eternity at his side, learning to understand this fascinating creature.” John blushed and Sherlock smirked as he turned back to let his gaze burn into his lovers. “I ask you now for his hand, however I shall endeavor to kidnap him should you say no.”

                                “That won’t be necessary,” He laughed. “I know fair well that John has had an interest in you for some time now. You have my approval.” He smiled at John, offering only a nod.

                                “Well, that settles that much easier than previously expected. I am pleased you all decided to call on us today. Most excellent,” Mycroft smiled. “We shall send his dowry to you this afternoon. Now, would you like some lunch?”

                                “No, I am afraid we cannot stay. We have an engagement.” John’s mother spoke as she stood. It was clear she was greatly displeased but could not overrule her husband.  “Lord Moriarty is throwing a small get together at our home.” She said it bracingly silently acknowledging that the Holmes brothers were not invited to set get together.

                                “Ah well I do rather appreciate you taking the time to come visit us here then.” Mycroft offered simply, his tone betraying his anger at the way John’s family was simply dismissing him. His mother took Moriarty's offered arm and swept from the room without so much as a word to her son.

                                “Be well.” John said softly, his face tight.

                                “And you.” His father nodded softly, with a sort of look of defeat as he followed them.

                                “John,” His sister said softly, clasping his hand. “Congratulations, I am happy for you. He is the only one worthy of you.” She whispered hurriedly before racing after the others. John sank down into a chair and sighed, his face in his hands. Sherlock could feel the sea of emotion passing easily over their bond and it worried him. He moved over and put his hand on his lovers' shoulders.

                                “What is it, love?” He asked quietly.

                                “My family of course." He said quickly but both brother's fixed him with a piercing and knowing stare. "Alright, I just recalled when I first met Jim Moriarty. He is far more dangerous than you know.” John whispered, one hand wrapped around his shield. “He’s a Solvanar.” He looked up at them.

                                “He is?” Mycroft sat up, looking at John eagerly. Sherlock's interest was also clear on his face as he took a seat in front of John.

                                “There is a history within the Solvanar that most the world does not know. A secret history that has been kept from the world in order to protect the ideals that founded the secret city." John whispered, bouncing his leg as he spoke. "You know there were twelve families that founded the city of Solvanar. Twelve vampire men who were given twelve mortal women to found the Solvanar bloodlines. However only seven families remain within the city. Five of the families have been banished for crimes against the Blood Concordance, never to be allowed back. Four of the families united together in the belief that they should forsake their vampire blood and willingly chose to leave the confines of the city. They believe that they should turn their back on their ancestors and thus become mortal throughout the years. That being a descendant of a vampire was akin to being evil. They established a city on the northern end of our land that is the only location where Solvanar families meet and where information passes to and from the city. Their attitudes have tempered some over the years but they are the bloodlines of the hunters. They have given themselves two missions; the first is to protect the sacred city from outside threats and the second is to eradicate all vampires. They call themselves righteous and believe they are doing the work of God.” He sighed again. “The other group the five family forbidden from the city... They are those that have fallen from the grace of the Solvanar. Their blood is dark and tainted. They are corrupt and greedy. It is to this group Moriarty belongs. Specifically to the lead family of which the patriarch..." John looked momentarily uncomfortable. "Is Lord Moran. Moriarty is a Rowan Solvanar. The Rowan are the royalty of the fallen, they believe that vampires and mortals are pets to be ruled. That we are the superior race and deserve to have slaves of mortal men and vampires. It is they who collect our kind and keep them as pets.” He growled lowly as he spoke and jumped up out of his chair to pace. Sherlock's eyes following him intently as he moved.

                                “There is caution in your words." Mycroft said softly, crossing his legs and placing his fingers together in front of his chin. His eyes burning into John's. "There is more to this story than you are telling us now." John sighed and looked at Mycroft as if appraising him for a long moment.

                                “She told me to never tell.” He mumbled to himself, clutching his pendant. He paced silently for a few moments before deciding that he needed to tell Mycroft and Sherlock the whole truth. That the only way to protect his family would be to be honest. “The Matriarch of my clan told me never to reveal this secret to anyone outside our line, however it is possible that Moriarty has been sent by someone who knows the truth. There are a few of the older Solvanar that know the secret of the city." He sighed and put a hand over his pendant, there was a whisper of magic through the room and when he removed his hand the pendant was markedly changed. It now bore two intersecting but different sets of knot work and a fire opal set in the top near the chain. "I am not solely an Oaken Solvanar.” He stopped, looking at them both. "To understand what I mean I must give you a bit more of the history of the breaking of the twelve." He sighed taking a deep breath. "There was a civil war in Solvanar. It is what lead to the three lead families, the Elder, Yew, and Oak removing the others from the city. As you know Mycroft, the Solvanar family lines work in very specific and usually predictable ways. The vampire patriarch wed the mortal matriarch and they had children. Always female. Those children, specifically the eldest child would then wed another man and it was her choice to choose a vampire or a mortal. They would also bear female offspring. That third generation would then choose their mates. So long as the mortal woman chose a mortal man it is then possible for her to bear a male child. If she chooses a vampire she will simply continue the cycle of female begetting female. It came to pass that one of these third generation women in the Elder line chose a vampire male as her mate. She became pregnant however instead of bearing a child as predicted she bore twins. Two girls, identical in almost every way. So the Elder family decided that it was time to unite the three. Each girl was promised in marriage to the eldest son of that generation of the Yew and Oak families. Resulting in two mixed lines. My ancestor Airvae chose to become a vampire shortly after his twentieth year. His wife, the daughter of Elder chose not to accept the gift of eternal life. So he protected her and fathered our line but allowed her to pass to shadow when her death came. It is because of the blending of the abilities of the two lines that I am a mender. My sister was as well." He sighed, sitting down. "It is also why we were twins."

                                "What difference does it make that you are born of two lines instead of one?" Sherlock asked quietly.

                                "It makes all the difference in the world. It is only within the last two generations that my line has finally expanded beyond the borders of the city. The fallen families wish to collect us and the hunters to destroy us for our mixed abilities. The only reason I have been kept safe is that they all believe I am dead. They believe that the Rowan's killed me years ago."

                                "Why the Rowan?" Mycroft's voice was soft and thoughtful. Sherlock had begun to pace.

                                "Lord Moran and I have... A history." John added, looking away from Sherlock as he growled.

                                "A history?" Mycroft demanded. John looked away, clearly upset.

                                "Yes a history, as in it is passed. Beyond our life now." He didn't want to talk about it but neither brother was willing to let it go. Mycroft swept over to John, boxing him in using the chair to gain leverage over him.

                                "Out with it my little mender." Mycroft said gently, moving to cup his cheek. Sherlock froze.

                                "He..." John's gaze was irrevocably held by Mycroft's and the truth was forced from his throat. "He also wanted my hand. He sought it more when I was younger." His voice was timid, like a child's.

                                "When did he seek you?"

                                "When I first found out my history. He wrote to my Grandmother. She refused." John felt himself slip back to normal as Mycroft looked away and he shuddered.

                                "By Grandmother you mean the Matriarch of the Elders?" He demanded curtly.

                                "Yes. I do." Another sigh. "Moriarty wants Sherlock, Moran wants me."

                                "For your abilities." Mycroft conceded, crossing his arms and leaning back as he sat back down.

                                "Yes." John tensed and stood up. "I think I require more rest." Mycroft simply nodded.

                                "I'll send a messenger to the Duke in a short while. He will likely reply with haste and once we have received his word we will begin your preparations for your holiday in Paris. I believe a slight change of plans is in order, we shall have your public marriage before you go. You two will then go to Paris to celebrate on your own. Then you will return here and we shall proceed forward. We must be mindful to watch out for Moriarty, he is planning something."

                                "He tried to enter my mind, which he has never been able to do."

                                "He tried before?" Sherlock demanded, stopping his pacing again.

                                "Yes, when we met in the mortal Solvanar shortly after my tenth birthday." John frowned.

                                "So there are mind links for the Solvanar?"

                                "Yes, it is due to our vampire heritage." John smiled at his lovers confusion. "It is very normal."

                Sherlock walked over and wrapped John in his arms, kissing him deeply. He then nodded to his brother before escorting John from the room. Mycroft didn't see them again for three days and when he finally was able to get them to leave Sherlock's bedroom it was clear the two would be utterly inseparable. He smiled at them as they both came to rest before him in his study.

                                "You summoned us?" Sherlock pouted.

                                "Yes, I am afraid I had to call you from your thrilling bout of doing nothing because the Duke has responded. He gives his blessing to your marriage and has called for a dinner in your honor this evening. The three of us shall be going, then tomorrow we shall finalize the plans for your ceremony. It is my hope that within a fortnight you two will be on your way to Paris.

                And so it was. That evening they went to dinner with the Duke, where Moriarty made it quite clear that he did not approve of their engagement. Lord Moran made an appearance but John was saved any interaction from him by the presence of his sister, who refused to part from his side for a moment. Comfortably entertained by his fiancé and his sister John passed the time easily. Their wedding was quickly arranged and just over two months after his rebirth as a vampire John Holmes had his lover all to himself in the rich trappings of a French manor. His head was still swimming from all of it, the fancy ceremony, the all too fake tears from his mother, and the overwhelming feeling of dread when he saw the look on Moriarty's face gnawing away at his stomach.

                                " _Why is your mind so far from me, my love_?" Sherlock's voice hummed in his mind. They'd just woken from their first full day in Paris.

                                " _I am sorry my love, things have transpired so quickly._ " He replied softly, reaching up to touch Sherlock's cheek.

                                "You'll forget the world soon enough," He promised, rolling them so he was above his lover. They were almost completely naked, which Sherlock used to his advantage. His mouth finding purchase on every inch of John's skin he could reach. John groaned, arching up into his touch. "Now that you're strong enough and we're far from my scheming brother I can finally bond with you properly." He spoke, his words vibrating against John's skin. John could feel his aura as Sherlock's magic opened to him, begged John's to merge with it, to give in. " _We are going to bond on every level. For all the ages of the world. Our souls will share the same connection, in every life I will find you."_

                                " _Oh Sherlock,_ " He groaned as his body felt like it became smoke. Sherlock felt like he was melting into him.

                                " _I am going to drink of you, finally..._ " The greed and lust in his voice was unmistakable. " _Then you will drink of me. For three days we will share in each other's essence until we are one._ " His lips found John's and claimed them heatedly, bruising pressure forcing John harder into the mattress and making his mind flutter into silence.

                                " _Yes, Sherlock, please._ " He whimpered, wrapping his hands in those dark locks. Sherlock kissed down over his jaw and onto his neck, bathing the pulse point with kisses and nips until John was keening for more. He was desperate for this, for this bonding. The one he thought he would always reject with all his heart. John wasn't like anyone else, he wasn't like any other creature Sherlock had met in the world. He was different. Sherlock fished around the table finding the oil and preparing his eager love.

                                " _Oh you are still so tight for me. I am going to claim you again. If you think our wedding evening was exhausting you have no idea what lies in store for you, my beloved._ " Sherlock smirked as John mewled and moaned, pressing into his fingers eagerly. He'd denied his lover this for days now, wanting every sensation to be extraordinary as they crossed this boundary.

                                " _Oh God! I have never felt fire like this inside my body. Your magic is enveloping mine._ " John whimpered, desperately trying to bring Sherlock's mouth to his own. Sherlock only relented when John was reduced to whimpers, claiming his mouth as he pushed a third finger into his lover to spread him wider. John clawed into his back and arched, losing himself in Sherlock's mouth as Sherlock reached down and stroked his awakening erection gently.

                                " _There is no going back from here, John. After this for all the ages of the world, for all of time you are mine and I am yours. In this life and the next._ " John groaned, his toes curling as Sherlock slowed to a brutally teasing pace.

                                " _I want that. I want to belong to you forever. I want you to belong to me. In all the ages of the world. In all lives._ " He promised, his breath ragged in his chest.

                                " _Then give yourself to me and let us bond._ " Sherlock commanded, he moved up - slicking oil over his cock before burying himself in John. He groaned John's name as he slowly slid his hips back and forth, pumping through John's clenching muscles as John arched and moaned under him. He leaned down so as much of their skin as possible was touching, kissing John deeply until he broke the kiss panting for breath. He turned his head, his neck easily exposing itself to his hunger.

                                " _Drink me_." John almost commanded and Sherlock's fangs almost arrived without his input. He guided his hand under John's head, cradling it lovingly as he slowly sank his teeth into him. John gasped loudly as Sherlock increased the pace, his head going foggy as John's blood spilled into his mouth.

                Their arousal grew steadily, driven on by the stirring of John's magic transferring in his blood into Sherlock's body. Sherlock could feel it melding with his own, changing it. He slowed his hips, drawing out their pleasure and denying both of them the orgasmic high they'd been circling to allow John his turn. He held his wrist up to John who eagerly bit into it and drank from him, the sensation overwhelming Sherlock for a long moment. Their bodies moved in perfect sync with each other as Sherlock leaned down and bit into John's chest creating a circuit of sorts between them as they both drank and gave to the other. Sherlock's pace increased until it was punishing and when they both thought their bodies would utterly shatter they tumbled over the edge shouting each other's name. Sherlock collapsed down on John, his hot seed causing him to moan as it contacted his cool skin. Their lips met frantically, fighting and claiming the breath from the others lungs as they slowly stopped trembling. Their ragged breaths the only sound in the room for a long time.

                                " _I feel you everywhere._ " John forced out, his voice trapped in his throat. " _I feel you inside my mind, my heart, my soul, my magic, my blood, my body..._ " He panted, his eyes locking with Sherlock's.

                                " _We are between the worlds now, as it were._ " Sherlock's voice was ragged but soothing. " _Locked in the bond state until the ritual is completed. That is why my brother sent Anthea here with us. She is our protector as we are vulnerable now. For three days we shall drink of each other and share this space and when we return to the world we left, we will be changed._ " He pressed shaking kisses to John's cheeks as he slowly slid out of him, collapsing on the bed beside him.

                                " _You never wanted this with anyone else, why me?_ " John asked quietly. His attention fully shifting to Sherlock.

                                " _You are my mate. The only person in the world in whom this thread lives. You are also the most fascinating and wonderful man I have ever known. Though no one would seem to know that looking at you from the outside. The things they say about you in court as so rude, so incredibly unflattering that I knew there must be a man beyond comprehension behind them._ " His eyes shifted slightly, as he cuddled closer. " _When we met in the market I was not entirely sure what to make of you. However once I came home and realized what chemicals you had in your possession when we collided, I decided then in that moment you were too dangerous a preoccupation. Vampire medicines in your mortal hands..._ " He chuckled softly and John blushed.

                                " _Your kin kept coming to me demanding that I heal them. I could not say no, otherwise you would only have yourself and your brother left._ "

                                " _Ah yes, I know Anthea was a regular of yours. It was her that told me of your research and offered to bring you the replacements I sent you. The more I saw you at social gatherings or other courtly events I grew more fascinated. You were always observing the scenery, the location, and the evening rather than the people. I was drawn in to you before I realized what was occurring. The night I saw you that Moriarty tried to take you I had intended to ask you for your hand. Time was not on our side._ "

                                " _And yet here we are._ " John smiled, his eyes fluttering closed.

                                "I love you." Sherlock replied.

                                "And I, you." He whispered as they sank into a strange sleep, plagued with dreams.


	4. Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shadows are forming around the Holmes, secrets John is still keeping from the brothers, the brooding darkness of Sherlock's possessive mind, and Mycroft's secret desire to have John for his own are beginning to be too strong to ignore. When Lord Sebastian Moran makes an appearance in Paris and sets the ball rolling to reveal that yet another has their sights set on John's heart, Sherlock descends into one of his black moods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO SO SO sorry this chapter has taken so long! Life decided it was more important. Stupid life, who gave you permission! School and work have been crazy but hopefully things will be a bit calmer for awhile (and Spring Break is just around the corner!). I am hoping to have the next chapter out within a week (it's written in my head just have to get it down on paper). 
> 
> Also if you're interested in teasers/updates on my writing status check me out on tumblr: http://hollyglow.tumblr.com/
> 
> Some important answers to important questions I have been asked:
> 
> 1 - Why didn't we see the wedding? I decided to skim over the wedding in the previous chapter because this is all really back story. This is all nitty gritty to get to the really good stuff in the modern BBC era. Don't worry there will be a wedding, it will be fluffy and sappy, and it will get more time than this one did.
> 
> 2 - Will we see Sherlock teaching John to use his powers? Not yet. As it mentions in the tags there is a major character death/rebirth going to happen and Sherlock's behavior is sort of tied to that. So you will, just not yet.
> 
> 3 - JohnCroft or JohnLock? The plan (as far as the boys are telling me NOW) is to end up with JohnLock and Mystrade in the Modern Era. That said I know there is a lot more JohnCroft to be had in the time leading up to then, Mycroft is being particularly Alpha/Pack leader like, and Lestrade hasn't been entirely clear on his motives yet - so let's just see where they lead us, eh?
> 
> 4 - MorMor - MorMor is not really a romantic couple in this case. It's a sire/fledgling bond and Moran is not really too thrilled with his fledglings plans and behaviors. 
> 
> 5 - Series 3 - So here's the thing. I enjoyed Series 3, I think it gave my little JohnLock brain a lot more material to work with and several more fears to consider but it will NOT be a part of this story with any relation to the way it occurred in canon. Just in case you haven't seen it I shall leave no spoilers here for you, but some events will be included (cases, villians, etc) but John/Mary will be temporary if at all and their canon story will not evolve the same here.

                Anthea paced slowly back and forth outside the door to the bedroom that for the last week had served as the secret den of the two newly wedded Holmes men. Sherlock and John had barely been seen since they arrived in France. A fact which she knew was not uncommon for bonding but one that was beginning to grate on her nerves. She had been sent to protect them during their bonding state which should have reached completion four days previously, now she was simply bored. Having decided she had, had enough of their games she went to open the door when a loud moan from inside stalled her hand. She sighed in pure frustration and walked down to the end of the hall, settling back down on her chair. Inside the bedroom, in the failing light of the afternoon, Sherlock was enjoying himself as he tormented his still half asleep husband.

                                "Sherlock!" John shouted as Sherlock nipped at his neck and chest. He'd been completely asleep having a strange dream when he felt Sherlock press two well slicked fingers into him. Then Sherlock's lips had been on his own, kissing him until his head swam with arousal.

                                " _Yes, my love?_ " Sherlock's voice was teasing as he worked his fingers deeper and deeper inside him.

                                " _Oh God! You demon!_ " John pushed back down onto Sherlock's fingers, whimpering as he did. He was already overwhelmed by their arousal, it thrummed in his chest and through every level of their bond. " _Take me!_ " He commanded. Sherlock smirked and kissed him until he couldn't think straight.

                                "So eager." He purred against John's lips as he slowly coated himself with oil and pushed his way into his lover.

                There was no haste in this moment, only the two of them and all the ages of the world. The two of them were beginning to feel more like themselves, so haste was no longer necessary. The ethereal whispers of the bonding state giving way to the earthy mortal realm. Sherlock set a desperately slow, feverish pace; their mouths struggling to stay together as their breath grew ragged and heavy. Sherlock locked his hands with John's, pushing them up towards the head of the bed, using his own body to lift John's hips slightly and change how he was pushing inside him. John shouted in his mouth and groaned, desperate for the release Sherlock was denying him. Sherlock kept John pinned under him, building the fire inside their bodies steadily but slowly until hours after dark had completely fallen they finally crashed over the edge. John panted for breath, silence descending around them and their eyes locked and burning together. Both of them utterly boneless and wrecked from such a powerful release. Sherlock smoothed gentle kisses over John's face, eyes, and mouth apologizing for tormenting him but not really meaning it. Anthea gave them an hour to recover before loudly knocking on the door.

                                "I am _terribly_ sorry to disturb you two," She shouted through the door, "However you have not fed in three days and there is someone here to see you."

                                "Someone here to see us?" Sherlock asked John, but John had tensed slightly. He closed his eyes and let his senses reach out, a small growl coming from his throat. "Do not growl like that unless you want me to claim you again." Sherlock growled himself, claiming John's mouth in another bruising kiss. John kissed him back deeply and they were in danger of slipping right back into their sexual contest before John's logic kicked in.

                                "It is Lord Moran." John responded and Sherlock tensed anew. They reluctantly pulled themselves up out of bed. He watched John as he hesitantly moved around the room, seemingly quite concerned about their guest.

                                "We are on our way." Sherlock sighed and Anthea's footsteps could be heard heading away from the room.

                They cleaned up and dressed, Sherlock enjoying how John was still so pleased by his new clothing and enjoying how well it framed his husbands' body. They shared another deep kiss before Sherlock opened the door to find Anthea waiting with two of their feeders. The two fed deeply, and though Sherlock sensed the rise of lust within his husband he also felt how John was beginning to control it. They both adjusted their clothing and prepared themselves to head down the stairs and face Lord Moran, who was pacing the length of the dining room, waiting for the two Holmes men to join him. He was crisply dressed in a dark red outfit that looked like it belonged to an age gone by. His dark brown hair and brown eyes flashed around the room as he felt the flutter of energy that signaled the two coming closer to him. He closed his eyes for a moment, his mind stalling as want of seeing John filled his chest. It had been many years since he'd had anything other than cold distance and fear from him. He hoped now that would be different. He forced himself to let those thoughts go as he heard their footfall in the hall. He looked up, his eyes easily attaching themselves to John and taking in how well he looked in his new vampiric state and noble dress. John's outfit was a dark blue, which brought out his eyes and the cut was perfect for his form. He looked more striking than Sebastian had ever seen him look. Sherlock saw Sebastian's lingering gaze and let out a soft, animalistic growl which only grew darker when he saw that John blushed. Sherlock wrapped his arm tightly around John's waist and Sebastian took the hint.

                                "Good evening, Lord Sherlock and Lord John. I do apologize for disturbing your celebrations," He added softly, he was going to continue but John cut him off.

                                "It is pleasant to see you, Lord Moran. To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?" John asked and bowed softly. Sebastian coughed gently, perhaps blushing. Sherlock's features tightened as John motioned for Sebastian to take a seat and took one himself.

                                "Sebastian will do well enough for you, little mender." He said softly, Sherlock's eyes darting back and forth between them. John blushed again. Which Sherlock did not like, he was confused and angry. He slipped his arms down over the chair, tightening them a bit on John's shoulders. Draping himself territorially around John.

                                "Very well then. Why are you here Sebastian?" John asked quietly.

                                "I was unable to speak with you during your wedding celebrations and thus was unable to convey some things to you that I wished to. Then I heard you were traveling so I was certain I would be unable to for some time. However when I arrived here last week to visit some of my kin I was happily informed that you were here also." He sank down into the chair across from John, surveying him. "I must say, John, this life suits you magnificently." He smiled motioning to John's form and Sherlock could see the Solvanar shield around Sebastian's neck. Sherlock tensed but John gently placed his hand on Sherlock's to try and calm him.

                                "And what did you wish to convey?" John asked in a curious voice, not fighting the blush that rose at Sebastian's insinuation.

                                "First and foremost my congratulations. You have chosen an apt mate who is as deserving of you as I think any could be. Secondly to swear an oath to you that I shall do all I can to prevent your happiness from being damaged. You and I have had a tenuous friendship at best over these last several years but I wish to see it strengthened. I know why you have maintained your distance and I truly accept fault for it. However I also have become aware that Moriarty intends to obtain your mate for his own. He has his sights narrowed on your husband and I swear to you now I shall do all I can to ensure that his actions do not bring you or him harm. I will do all I can to ensure that your safety is never compromised and your happiness remains." Sherlock was completely confused now, his face betraying him. Sebastian was rather surprised that John had obviously not told them their history but simply smiled as John flushed rather red.

                                "There is no need for all of this Sebastian. I have told..." John began but Sebastian cut him off, leaning slightly forward.

                                "No, I owe _you_ more than I can ever repay, _little mender_. I owe you a grave debt, John. You still seem not to grasp that I would have lost my entire coven, my whole family. Thus far you have refused every method of repayment I have offered. And though I believe all means I have at my disposal are not enough to repay the debt owed to you, I believe I have finally found something you will accept. I have spent many a night wondering what I may offer you, that you may finally accept, and this is the solution. I am quite certain you will accept this offer." He slowly reached into his coat and slipped out a parchment envelope, sealed. He held it out to John, "Give this letter to your clan father, to Lord Mycroft. It is an offer of truce between our clans, guaranteed so long as _you_ are safe. If you are well cared for than I shall offer my assistance in any situation he requires and guarantee I shall not myself nor allow any of my kin to harm a member of your family without retribution." His face darkened just a bit but softened as John reached out and timidly took the envelope, still blushing.

                                "Sebastian," His voice cracked slightly but he firmed himself. "Moriarty will not rest." His voice betrayed his fear. Sherlock was surprised that John was afraid and his hold softened slightly on his shoulders.

                                "He is my fledgling, little mender, leave him to me." He ordered gently. "He was just as saved by your hand as the others, he owes you a debt he does not realize. I will do all I can to protect you." He smiled as John seemed to relax just a bit. "Lord Holmes," Sebastian said a bit more firmly as he looked up and their eyes met. Both of them tensing and glaring at the other. "You have acquired an exceedingly rare treasure in this little mender. I trust you shall never forget that or else I shall endeavor to see him removed from your side and placed beside someone more worthy." His voice was soft but held the growl of promise.

                                "I shall never forget. Nor should you forget that he is _mine_." Sherlock growled in response.

                                "For the moment." Sebastian said coyly as he stood. "Be well gentlemen, I am sure we shall meet again in England." He nodded curtly and swept from the room.

                John took a slow shaking breath that hitched when Sherlock suddenly swept around and caged him in the chair. Sherlock's eyes burned into his, seeking answers to thousands of unanswered questions as his rage built and swirled in his eyes violently. Sherlock leaned forward and claimed John's mouth in a furious kiss, full of possessive passion. He straddled John in the chair, one hand finding its way into his hair and pulling his head back for better access. Sherlock forced his tongue into John's mouth, claiming him and not caring who might be near them to see. He kept kissing him, his aura pushing down on John's until John's entire body felt like it was no longer solid. Sherlock growled darkly against his mouth and clawed into his sides as he slid their bodies together and forced John to relent to him.

                                " _You're mine_." Sherlock's voice growled in John's body.

                                " _Y-Yes, Sherlock. Only yours._ " John's voice was breathless as he panted and shook. Sherlock finally releasing him and pulling off of his lap. John shivered slightly as he pulled away and slowly lowered himself down into the chair across from John, taking Sebastian's abandoned seat.

                                "Well, that was certainly an interesting visit." He growled.

                                "Y-Yes it was." John muttered his head still swimming. "An alliance with another family... Does our family even make those?" John was fingering the envelope gently, absentmindedly. His body thrumming with desire for Sherlock.

                                "We have before, but those clans became a part of something larger and the alliances fall away. Our clan mother has long since gone to rest, so many alliances are not offered our way." He sighed.

                                "So she is alive but sleeping?" John asked but Sherlock knew he was deflecting the moment he had to confess to the question lingering before them.

                                 "So, when are you going to tell me about this yet to be revealed history with the Moran family?" He demanded, crossing his legs and putting his hands together near his chin.

                                "Sherlock, Mycroft is going to demand this same story from me. Instead of repeating myself may we please simply enjoy the last portion of our time here? I shall explain it all when we return home, I swear it." John asked softly, clearly afraid.

                                "If we must, but you must tell me right this moment - do you wish to be with him?"

                                "Of course not!" John exclaimed, standing and moving over to pull Sherlock up. "You are my mate, Sherlock. You, no one else." He promised, kissing him.

                They remained in Paris for only another week because Sherlock was far too determined to know what it was that John was hiding. In fact he denied John any physical comfort until they were preparing to return home, using their bond to get what he wanted. When they returned home to England early it surprised Mycroft. Mycroft was however pleased to see them and if he was truly honest especially pleased to see John, as he'd found he'd actually missed him.

                                "And so comes my brother and _my_ little mender." He purred as they entered his study, but he looked up to survey them closely.  Sherlock's face was dark and brooding. Mycroft knew it would be only a matter of time before he sank into one of his 'dark moods.' "You've come home early and directly to me upon your arrival which can only mean something of import has happened." He motioned for them to sit, which John did not do. Sherlock threw himself angrily down on the couch as John timidly handed him the letter. Mycroft looked up between the two of them as he saw the writing on the envelope.

                                "What a frightfully interesting trip we have had, my brother. Did you know that Lord Moran visited us in Paris?" Sherlock snapped, enjoying the darkness that fluttered over his brothers features. At least Mycroft would commiserate with him.

                                "Lord Moran?" Mycroft's tone was clearly incredulous.

                                "Oh yes, brother. He wishes to have a _truce_ between our families." He snorted. Mycroft's brow furrowed further and he looked to John who was blushing and looking rather sheepish.

                                "A truce?" Mycroft's tone was clear.

                                "Yes, he called on us in Paris and asked me to deliver that to you." John said motioning to the letter. John was afraid, his voice shaking slightly. The anger of the two Holmes men was palpable.

                                "A letter to _us,_ from Lord Moran?" Mycroft looked utterly annoyed, believing the two of them were playing some sort of cruel trick on him. When neither of them seemed to cave he sighed and looked over the envelope. He unsealed the letter and read aloud: "Lord Mycroft, I am sending this letter to you in the only hands I can trust," Mycroft quirked an eyebrow as John flushed a bit, John looked pointedly away from Sherlock which served only to anger him more. "I am seeking a truce between our clans in the name of John Hamish Holmes nee Montiere. Well as you know him Watson, but we both know that is not his birthright.  I seek this in his name as he is dear both to my coven and to myself and we wish to ensure that the health of the family who has his protection as their goal is protected and his happiness is maintained for the whole of the world. This will likely be of some confusion to you as you may not know all of his history, however I owe him a debt greater that I shall ever be able to repay without making a move such as this. I do hope that finally he accepts this as a step towards repaying the insurmountable debt I owe him. Lord Mycroft, our families have had little quarrel over the course of your life amongst our kind. However, there has been much tension between our families since our arrival in the courts in England. I wish to seek end to that tension. The safety of the mender John, his mate, and his family are now a priority for me and as such I hope you will send a favorable response to this letter with haste. I congratulate you on acquiring such an excellent fledgling whose loyalty will forever be unwavering, and more so for his addition to your own family line. With all my gratitude, Lord Sebastian Moran." Mycroft finished and looked directly at John as he dropped the letter on his desk.

                                "Well... That sounds agreeable enough..." John said softly, now very red and staring out the window.

                                "Agreeable indeed, _my little mender_. This begs a host of questions that need satisfaction,  John." Mycroft stood and swept over to him, almost pressing their bodies together and forcing John's gaze to lock with his. He trembled slightly.

                                "I demanded answers from him in Paris however, he absolutely _refused_ until we were home. Claiming he did not want to repeat himself to you." Sherlock spat, pouting. "So brother, tell _your_ fledgling to tell us the truth, since my weight as _his husband_ meant nothing." Sherlock demanded, clearly sulking as he sank back on the couch.

                                "Sherlock do not be such a child, John was right to wait." He purred, softening his eyes slightly as he gazed down into John's face. John flushed slightly and found his breath hitched in his chest. "I am the authority in this coven and had he told you directly you might have flown off into a rage. Here we may all calmly deal with this together. So _little mender_ , what history is there between you and Lord Sebastian Moran?" Mycroft demanded and stepped back from John. John felt himself compelled to tell the story and slowly moved over to sink down on the couch across from Sherlock. Mycroft sank down on the couch next to his brother, both of them across from John. They both leaned forward, mimicking each other by putting their hands together against their chins. Both of them burning their attention into John.

                                "When my uncle first discovered I lived he journeyed from the mortal city, Summer, that forms the port city for Solvanar, to our home to find me. He secured the right from my parents to take me back to Summer and introduce me to the matriarch of my Solvanar line as well as the history and power my birthright bestowed upon me. Within the first few months of arriving there a young vampire who was a hunter for his clan stumbled into the inn where we were staying on the verge of death. He was likely not going to survive the night. No one in the inn was willing to help him, though I did not know at the time that this was due to him being part of the large joint clan run by the Rowan Solvanar and containing members of the other fallen families. All I knew was a man was suffering and no one was helping him. It infuriated me." He sighed and looked down, flushing slightly. "I knew nothing of this history at the time and convinced the man secretly to come to my room. A foolish move for one so young as I was and a mortal no less, however I had recently begun my vampiric studies and considered myself adept to help him. Especially owing to the fact I had healed so many of your kin during my years with the Watson family."

                                "A mender to be sure." Mycroft purred.

                                "So you asked a sick vampire to your room..." Sherlock said condescendingly, he was clearly not enjoying the way Mycroft was giving John credit for stupidity.

                                "Yes. I surveyed him and concluded he was poisoned, likely by drinking of someone who had ingested one of any number of herbs that are harmless for mortals but can be fatal to vampires. I happened to have in my possession several ingredients I believed counteracted the poison effects of the family of herbs I believed he ingested so I prepared a potion and administered it to him." He looked embarrassed and flushed as both men raised an eyebrow. "I... I also allowed him to drink of me in order to regain some strength. Which was outlawed in the city of Summer. I cared for him for a full two days in secret, telling my uncle I was ill and did not wish to leave my room. Within those two days the hunter made a complete recovery. However during his time with me he told me of his family and their ancestral home a bit further north along the coast and informed me that many of his kin had fallen ill from similar symptoms. He asked and then pleaded with me for permission to recommend me to his patriarch so I could be sought to assist in healing their kin. At this point I knew I must defer to my uncle, who was quite angry upon discovery of what I had been doing. He refused my recommendation to the hunter's patriarch but the vampire was not to be stopped. He slipped out of the inn sometime the following day and disappeared." John sighed, crossing his hands in his lap and finally showing some nervousness as the two brothers continued to stare at him.

                                "So you have a history of healing vampires before you even truly began your studies." Mycroft said thoughtfully.

                                "Yes. I have been able to heal at least some wounds of your kind since I was a child. I first discovered it when I happened upon Anthea in our apple orchard when I was approximately five." John replied softly.

                                "How did you come to _Lord Moran's_ knowing?" Sherlock growled intently, his face dark.

                                "Through the hunter of course. A week later the hunter returned to the city with three guards and Lord Moran in tow. Lord Moran had himself seen the evidence of the hunter's story of his healing by looking to his blood memory. He had come to Summer straight away as he himself was quite ill. He beseeched me for my assistance, promising me all manner of rewards if I would accept his offer. He offered the type of rewards that made my young mind hazy with desire. However before satisfactory arrangements could be made between Sebastian and my uncle the full affliction took him and he became gravely ill. I worked diligently to cure him, despite my uncle's continued protests and spent the better part of a week caring for him and sharing my blood with him." Sherlock growled darkly and jumped up, moving to pace through the room.

                                "He has had your blood?" Sherlock demanded.

                                "Yes, but only a little at a time." John said earnestly.

                                "He has no hold over your husband, Sherlock." Mycroft said reassuringly but Sherlock continued to brood as he paced. Mycroft motioned for John to continue.

                                "He descended very close to the edge of death but I was able to save him, after which he swore an oath to me that I would always be protected by him. Once his full strength returned he spent lavish amounts of money in order to acquire a bulk of the ingredients necessary to cure his family and outfitted me with new clothing, a weapon, books, and other items I needed to continue in my studies. He worked with me for a month to perfect brewing of the potion and once we had a sufficient store built up he planned his return home. However before he could settle the potential of my accompanying him with my uncle, one of his guards arrived to inform him that several of his clansmen, including his daughter, had taken gravely ill." John stood and moved close to Sherlock only to be met with a growl. He looked hurt but walked back over, joining Mycroft as he motioned for him to take a seat next to him.

                                "Naturally he asked you to accompany him?" Mycroft asked softly, carding his hand through John's hair.

                                " He begged me, actually. Begged me to accompany him to assist his family and the earnest desire in his heart for his family's health was what spurned me to agree. My uncle however resolutely denied my involvement and I was forced to betray him in order to stay honest with myself." John looked down, a bit embarrassed to admit that he had betrayed the trust of his uncle for a man he barely knew. The brothers however looked even more intrigued.  "We enacted a plan and he smuggled me out of the inn the following night. When we arrived at his ancestral home on the shores of the sea to the north we found that over half of his kinsmen were gravely ill." John's voice wavered and Sherlock found his anger fading slightly as John remembered such a dark time. "I studied what I could of the mortals they fed from while working to heal over twenty of Sebastian's vampire kin. I slept little and was on the edge of sickness myself many times, however I forced myself forward using the token of my youth to my own favor. It took the better part of two months before I was able to identify what was making Sebastian's kin sick. The mortals that live in the area close to their home and those they keep for feeding use two particular herbs in their cooking that are poison to vampires. So every time one of his kin drank from a mortal from the local area they were ingesting this poison slowly over time, however it is not able to be removed from a vampire's body without assistance from other substances. Once I had identified the herb in question Sebastian was able to convince the mortal servants they kept to stop using it and to ensure it did not come into their home. With an untainted food supply secured for his family Sebastian was able to finally find peace and within half a year his entire family was cured and healthier than before. While his family was finishing their recovery he informed me of a lot of the history of his family and the area surrounding where they live. He informed me that another smaller coven had inhabited the area with them for a hundred years, however they had all contracted some illness and died twenty years before I arrived at his home. He was convinced as am I, that his family would have followed the same path had I not intervened. It was then he began to offer me rewards for my assistance and began his campaign to ensure I did not leave their home." John sighed softly as Mycroft continued running his hands through John's hair to soothe him.

                                "So even as a child you worked with potions and poisons of our blood?" Mycroft asked softly, surprise and awe in his voice.

                                "Yes. It has been a passion since I can remember. " He mused softly, looking down. Sherlock turned to watch them, anger and jealousy still pooling in his chest.

                                "So your Uncle obviously found you." Sherlock said grumpily.

                                "Yes. Yes however he did not find me of his own intention. I later learned that the morning after my disappearance my uncle created a search party to try to find me. They were unsuccessful and unable to find a trail so they gave me up as kidnapped. A bounty was issued for Lord Moran as well as for my safe return. As the months drug on my uncle lost faith that I would be found and was attempting to resolve how to approach the matriarch, my grandmother, about the situation when he received a letter from Sebastian informing him what I had done. He beseeched my uncle for permission to claim me as his next fledgling, to raise and care for me. My uncle denied him, knowing that as an Oaken Solvanar our families were bitter enemies and having my blood in his line would complicate the tentative truce between the twelve families beyond the point of war. Unfortunately Sebastian was not pleased with that response as he had grown fond of me and wished to claim me as his mate. My uncle arrived a few weeks later to recover me but Sebastian drug his visit out in an attempt to keep me. It was only when I personally asked to be allowed to consider the decision myself until I came of age that he relented and let me free. I met Moriarty shortly after that and I believe Moriarty overheard part of my conversation with my grandmother where she explained I was a mender and informed me of bits of what my life would hold."

                                "You have met the matriarch of your clan?" Mycroft asked.

                                "Yes, she is my grandmother. She has met me twice so far."

                                "What did Moriarty do with the information he gleaned from that conversation?" Sherlock interjected.

                                "I believe he took it back to Sebastian and informed him that it was my destiny to eventually become a vampire. Moriarty wanted Sebastian's favor and apparently it was that information that garnered it. He was already of age and Sebastian took him as a fledgling. I returned home and shortly thereafter met Sherlock and began the history you have already seen and heard. Sebastian has tried several times to convince me to become his, going to great lengths to try and garner favor for the match from my family. My father and mother pushed for the union for a time however my uncle was so against it I was easily able to say no. However when the Solanar learned of my choice to become Sherlock's mate I lost the protection of my family and was left to the digression of my adoptive family. I was saved only by the Duke and what I now believe was Mycroft's advisement to him." Mycroft did not hide his smirk.

                                "He wishes you to be his and has for some time now." Mycroft said softly, leaning back and sighing.  "I could not allow that to pass, knowing as I did that my brother believed you to be his mate." Mycroft tilted his head.

                                "He said in Paris that he would not destroy my happiness." John defended him, flushing slightly.

                                "Before he threatened me." Sherlock growled. "Just like you do brother." John looked to Sherlock and shivered slightly as he felt Sherlock's anger and jealousy beginning to pool in his own chest.

                                "Well I suppose there are several of us who have John's safety as our priority." Mycroft stood and paced towards the window, looking out over the weakly lit afternoon. "John what do you think of this truce?"

                                "I believe Sebastian is trying to repay me by protecting my family since I saved his. I believe he will honor it and he will do his best to control Moriarty."

                                "I quite agree. We shall accept this treaty." Sherlock growled and stood stalking from the room, leaving the two alone. Mycroft smiled as John stood and moved closer to him, a pained and worried look on his face. "He is worried for you, my little one."

                                "Yes, he fears losing me." John whispered, his eyes caught in Mycroft's gaze.

                                "I have missed you. I have grown far too attached to someone who is not mine." He smirked as John blushed.

                                "I missed you as well, however I was well attended to." He smiled. Mycroft leaned down and claimed his mouth in a powerful kiss, grinning as John whimpered softly.

                                "Renew your promise to me," He whispered, barely a breaths space between their mouths. "Promise me if anything should happen with Sherlock you will always come home to me." He demanded.

                                "Always." John promised as Mycroft kissed him again. Mycroft kissed him for a long moment before pulling back and waving that he should go. Enjoying the rumpled look of John's hair and clothes.

                                "We shall talk later, go attend to your overly emotional husband." He smirked as John simply turned and wandered dreamily out of the room.

                Sherlock and John were not seen for three days following their return home. Mycroft was content to ignore their absence until he began to feel a strange sort of worried feeling filling his mind when he paused to think about his fledgling. He sent Anthea to them but she was turned away repeatedly.

                                "Sherlock? John?" Anthea's voice rang out. It had been four days since they had met with Mycroft.

                                "We are fine." John said in a shaking voice full of fear.

                They were not fine. Two nights after returning to England Sherlock had informed John he could not sleep and settled himself onto the couch in their room. Then he'd gone still. John had tried everything he could think of to make Sherlock move or speak but nothing worked. Panic was overwhelming him and he was certain that he had done something wrong to upset Sherlock and now Sherlock was going to starve himself because of it. He tried splashing water on him, poking and prodding, trying to pull him off the couch, trying to kiss him and stroke him, nothing worked. When he tried drinking from Sherlock and received not a single motion from him, he resolved himself to try something more desperate. The most desperate thing he could think of, he would try to mind link with him. He knew as mates they shared a bond between their minds as well as their magic but Sherlock had not trained him on how to use it yet. John was desperately worried about Sherlock and ready to do whatever he could to ensure his mate was well so he resolved to search their mind link even though it was dangerous. He closed his eyes and focused until he felt Sherlock's aura where it contacted his own. He followed the path until he felt Sherlock's physical form and was able to find a link to his mind. As he focused he found himself inside a large multi-roomed space, Sherlock's mind palace. It was wide and echoing as he shouted for Sherlock. The force of his voice echoed and reverberated against the walls of the palace until he was forcibly removed from Sherlock's mind and his attention came crashing back down into his body. The force of which made him ache all over as if he had taken ill. He collapsed into a heap in the bed and barely had the strength to curl up under the blankets, pleading for Sherlock to do anything other than stay as still as a statue.

                Anthea called on them again when another five days had passed, knocking and looking concerned when she received no answer. She gently opened the door and noted Sherlock on the couch. She stepped into the room tentatively and heard a small whimper from the bed. She tried to pull the blankets aside and when she did panic crossed every line of her face. She gently tried to get John out of the bed but he kept shying away from her until he was firmly in the middle of the bed. He sobbed muttered deliriously and she caught a bit of his words. Something about Sherlock being hurt. She hurried from the room, running as best she could for Mycroft's study. Mycroft was sitting at his desk looking over the short reply from Sebastian when Anthea burst into the room.

                                "Lord Mycroft," She said suddenly and his attention snapped up. "Has anyone informed our mender regarding Sherlock's dark moods?" There was panic in her eyes and Mycroft stood swiftly, stepping towards her.

                                "I should have expected Sherlock would have informed him, himself. Why?" He demanded darkly.

                                "He is very ill." She barely breathed, her own concern evident in her tone. "No one has seen either of them leave the room since they last were with you. They have not fed and John looks as if he has not moved from the bed in days. He is icy to the touch and paler than ever."

                                "And Sherlock?" He demanded even as he moved out of the study.

                                "On the couch in one of his brooding positions. He looked to have been there for some time. He responds to no one. I am afraid John is lost in between, he seems to have tried to mind link with Sherlock." She forced out in a breathless voice.

                                "Oh... Oh no." Mycroft's voice wavered as he broke out into a run towards their bedroom. "Sherlock has not trained him in his powers yet. That was a dangerous thing for him to try." He exclaimed as they reached the room. He threw the door open wide, eliciting a small whimper from somewhere within the blankets on the bed as the light barreled in the room. "Anthea take one of the mortals to my room and prepare her blood my usual way. Quickly." He commanded and she moved swiftly out of the room. "John?" He called softly, stepping towards the bed.

                A small lump directly in the middle of the bed quivered as Mycroft spoke, he moved softly towards the bed not wanting to startle the ill fledgling curled under the blankets and muttering. Sherlock was lying completely naked, on the couch in the room with his fingers pressed together under his chin. His eyes were closed and his breath was very slow. Mycroft growled darkly as he looked Sherlock over, wondering how Sherlock could have forgotten to tell John about this. To warn the man who loved him about his ability to become comatose for an undetermined amount of time without responding to external stimuli. Mycroft gently worked through the tangle of blankets to find the shivering mender hidden within them. John was pale as stone, his skin almost blue. He shivered as Mycroft pulled him into his arms and cradled him against his chest. His mouth moving but no words coming out.

                                "Come on my little one," Mycroft said soothingly. "You are okay, you are with me." He promised as he carried John out of the room without bothering to close the door. His entire being focused on the shivering vampire in his arms.

                                "Sher... Sher...Lock." He forced out, through shivers.

                                "He is not hurt my little one. He is fine. Oh I am so very sorry, my John." He purred, cradling him gently as he moved quickly towards his room. Anthea was waiting for him when they arrived and she helped settled John down into Mycroft's bed. "Anthea, ensure Sherlock is covered and place some blood wine near him for when he finally comes out of this brooding of his. That will be enough to get him down to feed. John will remain with me until Sherlock has proven he deserves his husband again. Please bring him some clothing from his room and leave it outside the door."

                                "Yes, Lord Mycroft." Anthea said softly, her brow still furrowed with worry. She hurried from the room.

                                "Come on now my little one," Mycroft said tenderly, pulling John into his arms and offering him the blood in a glass.

                                "Sher..." John mumbled.

                                "Hush little one." Mycroft pressed gentle kisses to John's head, forehead, eyes, and temples. He slowly tilted the glass until some of the liquid slipped into John's mouth. The taste seem to revive him some and he took the glass in his shaking hand as he tried to drink it quickly. Mycroft restricted him from doing so, metering out the blood as John drank and some color returned to him. "Easy love, easy." He commanded, refilling the glass and giving it to John. Three glasses of blood later John seemed to stop shivering and the blue color had faded from his face. He looked up at Mycroft with fearful eyes, but Mycroft simply cupped his cheek.

                                "Sherlock will not move." He whimpered, panic in his voice.

                                "My little fledgling, my John..." Mycroft whispered softly, pressing kisses over his cheeks and forehead. "Sherlock is fine. It seems he did not warn you regarding his brooding behavior. My brother likes to solve puzzles and sometimes when he finds a puzzle he cannot easily solve he goes into his mind and tries to solve it there. He will not move or eat or respond to anything we say or do for quite some time. We must simply wait for him to come back to us."

                                "I tried... I tried everything." John said eagerly, feeling as if he failed.

                                "I know my little love." Mycroft tried to reassure him. John required gentleness and each time Mycroft provided it for him, Mycroft grew more surprised at the amount of tenderness he contained in his own heart. He cuddled John into him and held him close. "You even attempted to meet his mind, without first training to do so. That was very dangerous."

                                "I... I thought I had done something..." John whispered, looking down.

                                "What happened once you left me?"

                                "He yelled at me for awhile, told me I was wrong for keeping secrets from him. I told him that I had not wanted to, however I was instructed to by the matriarch of my clan. I am to withhold certain information until the moment comes that I must share it with you. I tried to explain to him that I did not want to withhold it from him..." He sighed and looked down. "He was very angry and I told him to use his anger. So for two days we made love in the most punishing way I have ever been touched. Then while we were lying there and I was drifting in and out of sleep he suddenly seemed inspired. He jumped up out of the bed and told me he had to think. He settled down on the couch and when I woke he refused to move."

                                "He is trying to plan for Moriarty's actions against the two of you." Mycroft sighed and smoothed John's hair back. "You must understand, Sherlock is not doing this to punish you little one. He is trying to save and protect you. He has not been diligent in your care, he has not taught you the ways of your powers or the ways of himself. I intend to punish him for that and see to it he does not do this to you again. However, if he sinks into one of these moods you may come to me for whatever you require." John sighed softly against him.

                                "He will be okay?"

                                "Yes, little one. He will be perfectly fine. The longest he has been in a dark mood has been ten days. I believe he will awaken in the next day or so and be confused as to where you are. Will you stay with me until that time?" Mycroft's mouth was on his instantly and John could find no will to say no.

                Mycroft pushed John down on the bed, their mouths working furiously together. The blood lust came roaring into John's awareness as Mycroft's eager hands found their way over his naked form. Soft whimpers and moans broke free of John's control as Mycroft easily took dominance over him. He let his hands roam over John's body as he claimed his mouth in heated kisses, repaying every moment of distance he'd been made to suffer during his bonding period with Sherlock. John moaned and arched into his touch, desperate for more. Desperate to feel how their bond hummed in his body so very differently than his bond with Sherlock. He push his mouth back against his sire's, moaning his name as he worked. He needed this, he needed touch.

                                "I want to claim you again." Mycroft demanded, slipping his shirt off.

                                "Please... Please Mycroft." John groaned, his mind focused on every sensation Mycroft was giving him. Mycroft's hands paused, his fingers fluttering over John's erection. "OH!"

                                "Look at you," Mycroft groaned, now shifting out of his trousers. "So desperate for this... For me... Even though you and Sherlock have done little else aside from bond for months now." His tone was dark, demanding and dominating. A hint of jealousy rolling through his eyes and reverberating in John's body.

                                "This is different with you..." John protested but was cut off when Mycroft's mouth was on his again.

                                "Hush." He commanded and he kissed down John's body to take his erection in his mouth. John shouted and arched under his careful attention, his body trembling.

                                "Mycroft!" He hissed, his hands tentatively moving to touch Mycroft as he worked.

                                "Hands to your side, mender." Mycroft ordered and John easily complied. Mycroft took him deeply in his mouth, pressing his tongue against the underside of John's erection and sucking on him until he felt the moment John's body tried to give way to release. He stopped and John whimpered desperately. It sent a thrill through Mycroft. He kissed back up John's whimpering body until their erections slid together, moaning loudly as he felt John against his skin.

                                "Oh... Please, Mycroft!" John begged, clawing the bed.

                                "Touch me, John. _My John_." He ordered, pressing their mouths together as he rocked their hips together. Both of them shouting into the kiss. He kept rocking his hips forward at a slow pace until both of them trembled and shouted as they reached their orgasms. He kissed John over and over. "Sleep now, my little mender. Rest with me." He commanded and John's eyes fluttered closed. Mycroft's face darkened as he cleaned them up and settled into the bed next to John, his mind focused on how to best punish Sherlock for what he'd done. " _Soon brother, you will see your folly._ " 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys and gals here's the thing - the next few chapters are going to involve some major feels. But fear not I am a happy ending writer! So bear with my crazy school schedule and the feels and we'll all enjoy some good vampy times!
> 
> Comments always, always welcome!
> 
> Kudos appreciated!


	5. A Torn Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock stops brooding only to find Mycroft's truth regarding his feelings for John. While Sherlock trains John in his vampiric abilities, Mycroft chooses to distance himself from the mender.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another delay I'm so sorry! I had major writers block while trying to get this chapter moving along because I thought it was leading to one event and it turned out not yet! Apparently the boys are enjoying Tudor England far too much. 
> 
> We're nearing the first time jump though, so stay tuned!
> 
> A note about Sherlock's mind palace - I originally intended him to develop this a bit later on, but it seemed better that he was already constructing it. It is how he plans to remember every detail from every year of his immortal life. So he began constructing it shortly after being turned.

                Afternoon was slowly giving way to evening, the weak light of the wintery sun casting its' final shadows over the whole of Mycroft's study, giving it an overall gloomy feel. Mycroft sat quietly at his desk, palms pressed together in front of his chin, with a stern look on his face as he watched an anxious John pace back and forth across the length of the room and mutter to himself. Mycroft's irritation was almost palpable as he watched how his fledgling continued a descent into the darker parts of his mind. For the better part of the last two days Anthea and Mycroft had worked diligently to free John from the mental reverberations he'd forced himself to suffer through by attempting to mind link with Sherlock. For his part, Sherlock still remained in his brooding state - statue still and unresponsive, even when Mycroft attempted to find him in his mind. John had calmed some and under Mycroft's direction taken a bit more blood, but he had refused to properly rest or feed until Sherlock came back into the world. Mycroft himself had only been able to rest by using the force of their Sire/Fledgling bond to compel John into slumber, which had angered the mender immensely. His pacing was growing feverish and Mycroft's anger finally snapped. Sherlock would pay for doing this to John, Mycroft was sure of that. He swept out from behind his desk and placed himself firmly within John's course through the room, stopping him and grabbing his arms as he did.

                                "Stop this little mender," He ordered. "You have been pacing this track for hours, it will not do to have your mind so anxious. I have continuously told you that Sherlock will come out of his mind when he is ready. You must rest and take blood." His voice was soft, full of concern, but to the point. John looked up and met his eyes, trembling in his arms.

                                "I do not wish to rest until I know for certain Sherlock is well! He has not feed in almost a fortnight!" John shouted and Mycroft sighed. Mycroft sank down onto the couch and John easily allowed his Sire to pull him along as well, desperate for some consistency in this strange unfolding event. "You said he would come back to us after two more days." He complained, sounding like a child. It hurt Mycroft that John was so desperate for Sherlock to come back to him, he consoled himself by reminding himself that Sherlock was John's mate not himself. He also attempted to remind himself that John had been ill prepared for this circumstance and perhaps otherwise they might have enjoyed time together.

                                "I did, however that was due only to my previous experience with my brothers' brooding moods. He may take longer when the issue concerns you, little mender. I apologize that he has not yet returned to you, however I am here and trying to assist you through. Please John... Please take rest." John met Mycroft's eyes and was surprised by the deep concern reflected in them. He had not expected his actions to move Mycroft so deeply. He was forced to look away, blushing with shame. Mycroft had been caring so kindly for him and he'd been focused on Sherlock. He knew this was right, Sherlock was his husband however he felt shame blossom in his stomach. His heart was conflicted and his mind ached, Sherlock was his love, his bondmate; yet it felt wrong of him to have ignored Mycroft so fully. He kissed Mycroft softly, enjoying the shy smile he got as a reward before he shifted so  he was laying on the couch. He slipped down so his head draped over Mycroft's leg and rested easily in his lap, enjoying the closeness of his Sire. A soft knock echoed through the room and Anthea entered bringing Mycroft his daily correspondences which he took with gratitude. He opened the letters holding them in one hand and allowing the other to card through John's hair. John's body instantly relaxed and he looked up at Mycroft to watch him.

                                "Would it be acceptable for me to remain like this while I rest?" John's voice was thick with tiredness, his eyes hopeful that Mycroft would allow him to remain in physical contact with him.

                                "Yes, my little mender. Simply stay at ease." Mycroft whispered and continued reading the letter from their coven house in France. It took awhile however finally he felt John drop to sleep, letting out a soft sigh of relief as he did. He stopped moving his fingers through John's hair in order to switch letters and smiled fondly at the soft whimper the little fledgling made when the contact was withdrawn. He returned to his task and enjoyed how easily John sank into a deeper sleep.

                It took only an hour for Mycroft to finish reading all the correspondence that had arrived and he sighed softly as he tried to discern something to occupy himself without disturbing John. He first attempted to come up with something else to occupy his mind, but found his attention drifting down over the peaceful form of the mender sleeping cuddled against him. He reached down, gently placing a hand over John's chest and smiling as John let out a soft, sleepy contented sigh. He watched fondly as John nuzzled his head against Mycroft's arm and sat quietly simply watching him sleep for a long moment. Sometime later he tensed as he felt the energy of the house shift, a sort of violent ripple tearing through the sleepy peacefulness the house had carried for almost two weeks. It was a clear sign that Sherlock had rejoined the world of the wakeful. He closed his eyes allowing his hearing to dominate his other senses and focused on the sounds coming from the house. He noted the sound of Sherlock slamming open his bedroom door, followed by his hurried footsteps down the stairs and the loud clang of the door to the wing of the house where the mortals they kept lived. The footsteps stormed back upstairs and down to Sherlock's library before returning to his room. Then they turned and began towards Mycroft's wing of the house. He realized that Sherlock was full of rage, his footsteps quick and his energy storming.

                                " _Brother_ ," He reached out for Sherlock, " _Do not charge into my study like an animal, I have had a hard time keeping our mender..._ " Before he could finish his statement the door to the study flew open and slammed hard into the wall. John jolted awake, panic clear on his face as he tried to ascertain what had happened. Mycroft attempted to keep John in his position but he struggled to sit up.

                                "John!" Sherlock shouted and John looked up at him in confusion, disbelief, and grogginess.

                                "Sh-Sherlock!" He exclaimed in relief but anger crossed Mycroft's face and forced John to tremble as his Sire's feelings reverberated in his body. Sherlock did not seem to acknowledge Mycroft's presence, his full attention focused on his husband.

                                "John what are you doing here? I told you to remain in our room until I was done!" Sherlock demanded angrily, a sort of panic in his voice. He had feared John was with Mycroft and his jealousy was gnawing away at him. He began to move towards the couch but betrayed his surprise when Mycroft was suddenly in his face. Mycroft allowed himself to form an angry wall between his brother and their mender.

                                "Do not approach him." He ordered and Sherlock looked livid. John looked confused and tried to move forward but Mycroft held out his hand and used his powers to hold John in place.

                                "He is my husband, I will do as I please!" Sherlock snapped at him, trying to shove Mycroft out of the way. Mycroft remained firmly in his path.

                                "No, you will not." Mycroft's voice was stern but he said it simply, crossing his arms. "You do not deserve him and as you continue to lack the concern necessary to protect him, refuse outright to prepare him for this life, and are woefully inattentive to his wellbeing I am considering revoking your bond with him. Do not dare to come in here shouting at him! You are the one who has been brooding for almost a fortnight! You are the one who did not protect his heart! You are the one who caused him to neglect his own wellbeing in favor of yours! This was the first time in three days he has been convinced to take rest of his own will and all because he was too upset at not knowing what your dark moods entail!" Mycroft wasn't shouting but his tone was perfectly clear. Rage filled him and bled off, filling the darkening room.

                                "Mycroft!" John said suddenly, very concerned. His voice shook and he stumbled towards them, trying to put himself between their feud. Both brothers moved in sync with the other to face the trembling mender. Pain crossing their faces as they watched him shake and stumble with exhaustion.

                                "Sleep." Both of them commanded simultaneously and John could not fight compelling from both of them. His eyes fluttered closed and his legs buckled under him as he gracefully collapsed. Mycroft caught him and lay him easily on the couch, pausing to gently card his hand through his hair before turning back to Sherlock in anger.

                                "He is my bond mate, Mycroft! You cannot simply revoke that!" Sherlock shouted, Mycroft growled and seemed to teleport from his place beside John right back against Sherlock's chest. Their eyes burned daggers at each other as they squared off, the potential for physical violence very real.

                                "How is he your mate?" He challenged. "How have you cared for him?! You did not warn him about your dark moods! You have not trained him in his new abilities!" Mycroft leaned forward his nose almost touching Sherlock's, both of their bodies and gazes hard.

                                "I have not had time to train him! What purpose does it serve? He has no need of his vampiric abilities with me, Mycroft. I do not intend for him to ever be in a situation where they are required." His voice was dark, because he truly believed he was all John needed to remain safe.

                                "You utter imbecile! It serves the purpose of protecting him for the ages of the world! It serves the purpose of him becoming a full-fledged member of our society. Do you know what he has done for you? The way he has suffered for you this last week? For Gods' sake Sherlock, he tried to mind link with you!" Mycroft jabbed a finger against Sherlock's chest. "All because he was determined to free you from some mental torment he believed you were enduring! All because you did not warn him about your brooding! And he garnered mind sickness from it because of the confusion of your mind palace!"

                                "He what?" Sherlock deflated slightly and turned to look at John, watching him sleep. He looked pained and Mycroft's rage should have deflated but it didn't. All of Mycroft's hurt welling up and feeding his anger. John had suffered because of Sherlock. Mycroft had not been able to enjoy a moment of peace with John because of Sherlock.

                                "He tried to enter your mind, Sherlock. Without being trained! It required Anthea and I to work for two days to bring him out of the sickness. He refuses to sleep, to take blood, and he is utterly distraught because you, my infantile brother, did not adequately prepare him for life with you!" Mycroft's voice was low and deadly. Sherlock's attention snapped back to Mycroft and there was only breathing room between them as they stood toe to toe.

                                "You are only saying such hurtful things because you want him for your own! I have seen how you look at him! I have seen that look in your eye, the one you have had since we returned from France. He is not a pawn to be toyed with! He is not simply an asset to your coffers! He is _my_ mate, Mycroft! I love him! He loves me! He is mine!" Sherlock was still shouting, his voice echoing in the room. "Why are you so intent on trying to take him from me!?"

                                "I am not trying to take him from you Sherlock! And I am doing more than trying to look out for the interests of the clan! Yes he is a mender! Yes he is a Solvanar! Yes he is more of an asset to this clan than either you or I. However you need to consider his heart and his feeling when you take action! You are not alone anymore, brother mine!" Mycroft's rage was threatening to boil over, his voice elevating.

                                "I know I am no longer alone! I did not expect to need to be in my mind palace for as long as this task required! I also had been informed by him that you would care for him should I be unable to do so and it seems you have not taken to your task very well!" He leaned over their faces almost touching.

                                "I cared for him as much as I was able, Sherlock. He refused my care! His entire being was focused on you!" He growled, their eyes burning into each other's.

                                "As well he should be! He is my husband!" He countered angrily.

                                "You do not care for him!"

                                "And what makes you believe you could do better, brother?" Sherlock's tone was lethal.

                                "I care about his health and wellbeing more than you."

                                "No you do not. You are only interested in having him as yours for the sake of owning him! I love him!"

                                "You have a terrible means of showing him!"

                                "And you? What could you possibly want from him?!" Sherlock raged, grabbing Mycroft by the shoulders.

                                "I love him!" Mycroft snapped, his temper flaring higher than before. He froze, his eyes going wide as they both realized what he had said. Ringing silence followed his words as the brothers each took in the confession that had so carelessly fallen from Mycroft's lips. They stood panting for breath as they slowly stepped apart and turned to tentatively look at John. Mycroft let out a soft sigh of relief, noting that John was still deeply asleep. Their breath was ragged as it move through their chests, their anger cooling rapidly in the face of a much bigger conundrum.

                                " _You love my husband?_ " Sherlock moved over to John lifting him slightly so he could slide underneath of him and rest his head in his own lap. He slowly carded his hands through John's hair and looked up at his brother with mild interest and concern.

                                " _I..._ " Mycroft was red in the face, utterly embarrassed at having admitted such a sentimental thing so strongly in the heat of an argument.  Sherlock would have been amused had the moment not revealed that his own brother coveted his husband. Mycroft was upset, he did not like confessing secrets to his brother, especially a secret he'd meant to keep. " _I am afraid I have come to love him, yes._ " He sat down on the couch across from them, looking John over in silence.

                                " _Have you told him that_?" Sherlock demanded softly, locking eyes with his brother.

                                " _Of course not! Why would I_?" Mycroft's face tightened in confusion.

                                " _Because I am not the only one to have hurt our little mender, brother. He may have suffered most visibly because of my brooding however he has been hurting because of your distance with him. He lies awake some days trying to figure out how he can please us both. Which, while I do not enjoy that my husband has sentiment for you, I cannot deny his heart._ " Sherlock sighed.

                                " _It is incredibly stupid of me to carry more sentiment than required for a fledgling, for your mate. I apologize._ "

                                " _Do not go cold on me, Mycroft. It will only serve to injure him more. I will prepare him better. I shall teach him to mind link properly and will try to begin teaching him to use his various powers. You however need to tell him your truth. He needs to know we both value him. He is violently insecure because of the treatment of his adoptive family. He is utterly convinced we will become bored of him and dismiss him. We must endeavor to be better. Both of us._ " Sherlock said it earnestly as John began to stir slightly.

                                " _I shall think on it._ " Mycroft mumbled and stood, he paced over to the window. He could not face John like this, with so much sentiment aching in his chest and John's attention fully fixated on Sherlock.

                                "You two were fighting..." John mumbled, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

                                "We were, I am sorry." Sherlock whispered, cupping his cheek.

                                "Sherlock, if you do this to John again the punishment will be severe. Take him and make him feed, then care for him." Mycroft ordered softly, not turning back to look in the room.

                                "As you wish, brother." Sherlock said quietly and helped John up. He balanced John's weight against himself as he led him out of the study and down to feed. John looked between them with clear confusion, however his mind was sluggish and slow to respond allowing Sherlock to easily guide him from the room.

                                "I am so relieved you are well." John whispered, leaning heavily against Sherlock.

                                "My love you should not have attempted to enter my mind without training." Sherlock scolded him, motioning to one of the mortals who came over and allowed John to feed. When he finished Sherlock scooped him up and carried him to their room.

                                "I was afraid you had been injured or gotten trapped in your mind." He protested, his head falling against Sherlock's chest.

                                "I told you I needed to think."

                                "I have never seen someone go so still simply to think." He said firmly.

                                "I am not the same as other people. I should have explained myself more adeptly and I am sorry I did not. However you must promise me to never again try to enter someone else's mind without training, my love. You can become trapped in your own and never be free." Sherlock lay John down on the bed in their room and slipped in beside him, holding John to himself. "It is a very dangerous thing to force your way into another's mind, especially for us. I know you have had training as a Solvanar and that some of that training included meeting the mind of another, however it is vastly different with our kind - especially with one like me."

                                "Teach me." John demanded earnestly, gripping Sherlock's dressing gown tightly.

                                "After we have had rest." He cupped John's cheek in his hand, forcing John to meet his eyes. "I am sorry John, I owe you a great number of apologies for not warning you."

                                "No, I am sorry." John whispered softly, looking down as he flushed with shame. He had to tell Sherlock his truth, his heart ached. "Sherlock, I am not worthy of your heart for mine too easily allows room for your brother." He bit his lip nervously. "I find myself desperate to see both of you happy and I should belong solely to you."

                                "My little John," Sherlock smiled softly, leaning closer to John so their foreheads touched. "While I cannot say I am comfortable with the way that so many have had an interest in your heart, your love, and your bed - I can say that you are mine. If you also hold love for my brother than I shall endeavor to accept it." He pressed gentle kisses to John's mouth, which John eagerly returned.

                                " _I am yours. No matter what, it is you I wish to spend eternity with. If your brother and you were to go to war I would stand beside you, even if you were wrong._ " John's voice was soft.

                                "Good." Sherlock smiled and he kissed John over and over until he felt his body go slack in his arms.

                Several days passed before the pair resurfaced. Mycroft visited them a few times but their conversations were short and generally focused on how John's health was recovering. When Sherlock and John finally came out of their hiding it was to face the news that John's cousin was preparing to officially wed Moriarty, which meant a series of social engagements would soon befall them. John was summoned to the Duke's almost immediately following the announcement of the impending wedding to assist his cousin in her tasks, leaving the brothers at the Holmes Estate to contend with their emotions. Mycroft refused to speak to Sherlock on his feelings for John and as far as Sherlock knew he had not approached John either.

                                "Are you ready to learn to mind link?" Sherlock asked John softly one morning, as John slowly pulled himself awake.

                                "I was wondering if you were ever going to teach me." John smiled as he sat up and kissed Sherlock softly. "Yes I am ready." He crossed his legs, facing Sherlock and watching him intently.

                                "The first thing you must understand is that to enter someone's mind without causing yourself sickness you must have their permission to do so. The room you found in my mind is one I designed to trap those who attempt to enter without permission. In time you will find the best way to protect your own mind. Close your eyes." Sherlock's voice dropped considerably. " _Feel your aura, feel how it pulses around you like a protective shield. How it surrounds and protects you._ " John's eyes fluttered closed and his breathing slowed as he did what Sherlock instructed him to do. " _Begin to explore the space that your aura fills between us, test the edges and the limits until you know firmly where your energy begins and ends._ " Sherlock watched with rapt attention as John worked, little tremors of their bond rushing through him as John explored the area where their auras touched. The place their bond lived.

                                "And then?" John's voice was quiet.

                                " _Then you must feel where your aura touches mine, where it meets with the world at large. Feel how our auras blend together at the edges and where you can feel mine become rigid and protective of me._ " Sherlock almost moaned as he felt how gently John accessed his aura. It was unlike any other mind link he had experienced. A fact he should have expected. John was unlike any other person he had ever encountered. His eyes fluttered closed as he sank into his mind palace, the building he used to house all of his memories and thoughts. " _Gently ask permission of the other's aura to enter their space._ " He could not hold back the moan as John gently performed the task. It was like John was inside his body, their magic and energies working together in a way that was deeply intimate. John was so gentle as he moved through their connection, through their bond, in a way that was asking permission at each step. He gained access to Sherlock's aura with such reverence it was sending shivers through Sherlock's body.

                                " _What is this place?_ " John's voice echoed as he appeared next to Sherlock in a long hallway in his mind. Sherlock smiled and looked at John standing beside him, the only other person to ever have access to this portion of him was his brother.

                                " _This is my mind. This is how I organize it to keep all the information I have learned available. The place you entered before is the trap I designed to keep people who might try to force their way into my mind, out. You were injured because you called for me. In that part of my mind if you make a noise the echo builds until it takes over your mind. You are lucky Mycroft was able to help you._ " Sherlock's voice was soft, the hallway was barren - just white walls with a concrete floor. John looked around at all the many doors leading off of it.

                                " _So that is mind sickness?_ "

                                " _Mind sickness is when your mind is forced into itself. That is what the reverberation does here. I should have explained more about being a vampire to you. Because of your history I simply assumed you knew all there was to know. It was wrong of me."_ He led John down the hall in his mind, towards a specific door, pushing it open. It revealed a memory of Sherlock's, a small stone house with a small garden. " _Here you can access all of my memories. We can interact just the same as if we were in the waking world. This was our home, our original home. We were turned by our mother, who now rests. She and our father married when she was quite young and he perished before I reached my fifth birthday. Things were quite upsetting for all of us during that time, she worked hard to raise us and to keep our home from falling into the hands of others. For many years she did not seek another suitor, however she met a man whom she felt desperately in love with. A man who turned out to be a vampire. He offered her the gift of this life and she took it, only to lose him during a struggle with another clan some fifty years later. I must confess, I am an ill teacher for you. I do not know all there is to know about our kind, John. In fact I know very little. However I do know that each of our kind possesses a set of skills and abilities linked to our blood magic. It is unique to the blood of each of us, it comes awake with the change from mortal to vampire, and is bonded to your soul so that should you perish and be reborn you may be reawakened to your original self. Some of our kind can fly like birds, others can walk as shadows bending them around themselves like cloth. My brother has many abilities such as the ability to move objects, people, the like... He can walk in shadow and transport himself across short distances in a blink of an eye. His powers came to him very quickly after rebirth to this life, however my powers have yet to fully reveal themselves. I know I share his ability to move objects and people. I do not believe I can fly nor do I seem to have his ability to walk in shadow or transport myself. My eye sight is much stronger than his and I can see down to a level that I cannot describe to you... I remember everything I hear or learn and I can separate sounds from each other quite easily. Mycroft believes my powers lie in stronger senses beyond even the increase given by our blood._ " Sherlock's voice was soft as he walked John along outside the house in his memory.

                                " _So each one is different? That sounds similar to the Solvanar families._ " He added softly.

                                " _I believe it is. You have the ability to heal others, how did that come to you?_ " Sherlock sat down on a stone bench and John followed.

                                " _It began when I was very young. I found one of our servants had suffered a bite from something, I was perhaps three at the time. There is an aura around plants, animals, people... That I can sense. A sort of field that resonates when items that work for or against it come in contact with it. I was able to determine what creature, a spider, had bitten her and was able to find an herb that helped. That was how I could diagnose the illness that Sebastian presented with, how I knew which ingredients to put together, and how I knew what potion to use to cure it._ " John yawned a bit and Sherlock smiled.

                                " _Come now you have lingered awhile here. It is draining what little strength you have recovered from two weeks without feeding. I will show you how to leave the mind link. Then we can feed and rest. Close your eyes and feel yourself slowly retreating into your own aura, your own body. Gently and slowly flow back into yourself."_ Sherlock waited until he felt John center himself and he opened his eyes, smiling broadly.

                                "Will it feel so strongly with others?" John asked softly as he opened his eyes to meet Sherlock's, his fingers slowly reaching up to touch Sherlock's cheek.

                                "No, it will not feel as intimate. We are bonded, so for us it is different." Sherlock leaned forward and claimed John's mouth in a passionate kiss. "Also you will not be as readily able to link with Mycroft. As your Sire your bond shares a very different series of qualities - ones he must teach you of." Sherlock pressed himself to John, forcing John back as their mouths moved together. "Now, hush..." He commanded, his fingers deftly making their way up and loosening John's clothes.

                                "S-Sherlock..." John moaned softly, his nails digging into Sherlock's shoulders as he worked.

                                "I cannot keep my hands off of you, John..." He whispered against his mouth. "Not one bodily urge has swayed my mind in all of my life until you and now it is as if the gates will never close." He ground their hips together, their mouths desperate to seek purchase on the others' and their moans clashing softly.

                                "You torment me." John growled softly and Sherlock was surprised. John pushed up and flipped them so Sherlock was underneath of him. "You tormented me for weeks, going so still and silent. I could not reach you and I feared you had died..." His tone was rough as he clawed away the dress robe Sherlock was wearing. "Then for three days after you wake you do not allow me rest, working in me over and over again..." His breath was hot against Sherlock's ear as he nipped it, forcing a whimpering moan out of Sherlock's mouth. "Now it is my turn." He promised, his hands swiftly coursing over Sherlock's body to find his waking erection and stroking him hard.

                                "John!" Sherlock gasped, arching up into his touch. John had not taken control like this before, never had he been so demanding. It was as if the truth of him awakened and wished to make itself known.

                                "Hush now." John commanded, his mouth finding purchase on Sherlock's neck, suckling at the pale, smooth skin. Sherlock groaned and keened into his work, clawing into John's back as he did. John's mouth continued its course over his neck and shoulders before beginning to move down his torso.

                                "John, I... This is not like..." Sherlock tried to force out, but John bit him gently.

                                "I have been afraid, Sherlock. Afraid of giving in to the thoughts that take over my mind. I want to claim you. You have claimed me so intently, I want to repay the favor." He promised, licking down over his nipples and groaning as they hardened. His hand still moving firmly over Sherlock's cock.

                                "John! Stop! I cannot hold back!" Sherlock demanded, trying to get free so he could pound into his husband.

                                "Sherlock!" John's tone was warning, he found the oil they kept beside the bed and coated his fingers, slipping two inside Sherlock and gently toying with him. He kept pressure firm and even on Sherlock's pulsing member, not letting him move to create the friction that would allow him release. Sherlock groaned and thrashed until John coated his own length with oil and sank deep inside of him.

                                "John!" Sherlock shouted, clawing John until their mouths met. John hips moving hard against his own. "God, yes." He panted, arching up into him.

                John repaid every moment of torment Sherlock had given him, moving hard and then slowing to almost a stop over and over again until both of them were almost sobbing with frustration and need. Sherlock pleaded with John who resumed his hard, punishing pace, wrapping his hand around Sherlock again. Their mouths locked in heated kisses, both of them moaning and shouting until they trembled and released. John collapsed down on Sherlock, just barely pulling out of him before the two of them sank to sleep.

                Sherlock worked with John on mind linking until he was able to find the path into Sherlock's mind quickly and without the same intense physical response. It took several weeks after which John finally felt confident enough to broach the subject of Mycroft with Sherlock. He calmly asked to be allowed to spend some time with him, as he had not interacted with Mycroft much since Sherlock had come out of his brooding. Sherlock denied him saying there was much to be discussed before he could allow John out of his sight. Time wore on however and a few months later John brought the subject up again. John was concerned that Mycroft believed John held no feeling for him. Mycroft's actions towards him had shifted since they were last together. The easy, gentle touches Mycroft had given him when they passed in the hallways we gone. When they were all together Mycroft refused to meet his eyes, and when he did his expression was closed off. As John again approached the subject Sherlock's anger built quickly. Mycroft was sitting in his study when he felt the energy of the house rock with the explosiveness of what could only be a fight. He did not get up, staying in his study because he knew somehow the fight was regarding himself.

                                "Sherlock!" John shouted, crossing his arms. "You told me you would accept my feelings!"

                                "That does not mean you may run off to him whenever the whim takes you! You are my husband!" Sherlock shouted back at him, standing very close to him.

                                "I have hardly spoken with him in months! I simply wanted to spend one night with him! ONE!" John's rage was quiet but furious.

                                "Why? Did he approach you?!" He watched with rueful pleasure as John's anger deflated slightly.

                                "No. This was my own thinking! He is my Sire! I care for him!" John was hurt by Sherlock's rage, Mycroft had been so distant with him and he was sure it was because of Sherlock. He wanted to offer him some comfort.

                                "No." Sherlock snapped.

                                "Sherlock it is one night once a month! I am not asking to go stay with him for endless amounts of time!"

                                "No, John, no!" Sherlock snapped and raged.

                                "This is violently unfair, Sherlock Holmes. You told me you understood!" John shoved him back, their bodies close together. Sherlock growled and pressed his mouth against John's.

                                "I do not care! You are mine!" He shoved John into the wall, kissing him furiously.

                                "Sherlock!" John gasped. Sherlock pinned him hard against the wall, leaning down and running his tongue over the side of his neck. John's voice shook with tremors as he said Sherlock's name again, but his head swam. Sherlock nipped the side of his neck, catching it between his teeth and enjoying the moan that it elicited.

                                "You're mine, John." Sherlock growled.

                                "Sherlock, I will not let this go!" John forced him up, which took considerable effort because their arousal stirred so quickly. "You told me you understood how I felt and now you are denying me my feelings. I have been with you almost every moment for the last several months. Please allow me this one thing!"

                                "Fine!" Sherlock snapped in rage, throwing something across the room and watching it shatter. "He has barely glanced at you in months, but go to him! What do I care!" His tone cut and he watched as John shuddered with silent tears. He tore from the room, leaving Sherlock to face the vacuum of his feelings. Sherlock slammed around the room for a good ten minutes before settling down on the couch to brood.

                John paused in one of the empty rooms on the way to Mycroft's wing to brush away his tears. Anger welled up inside of his heart because Sherlock had promised that he would allow John to visit with Mycroft. The pair had been acting oddly towards John since Sherlock's dark mood and he was at a loss as to why. Sherlock refused to tell him so he hoped this time with Mycroft would allow him to discover the answer from his Sire. Doubt swam under the surface of his skin as he felt the familiar worry that Mycroft had grown board of him. He resigned himself to facing Sherlock's anger when he returned the following night and moved towards Mycroft's study, knocking softly.

                                "Come in." Mycroft called, looking up with clear surprise as John entered. It was easy to see the tears on his face, Mycroft wanted to comfort him but he refused to do so. He could not allow himself to feel this sentiment for John. It would be better to remain distant. He had hoped the lack of touching and response he'd given the mender over the last few months would be enough to finally push him away. Judging by the look on his face, that was not the case. "What are _you_ doing here, mender?" He snapped almost angrily, furrowing his brow as John recoiled.

                                "I... It has been some time since you and I spent time together, so I thought we could perhaps spend the day and night together." He offered it a bit timidly, which made Mycroft's heart twinge. He wanted to spend time with John, the offer was tempting but he could not. He could not allow himself to indulge such sentiment with his brother's mate. He saw how John shivered, but he kept himself firm forcing his own emotion down in his chest.

                                "That is very sweet of you, John." Mycroft said darkly, looking up at him. "However I am afraid I cannot do that. I have quite a bit of work to complete and I must go visit the Duke tomorrow. Is Sherlock brooding?" He kept his voice sharp because he wanted to melt under the disappointment that shone in John's eyes. He wanted to sweep up from behind his desk and kiss away the sorrow that was building behind John's eyes, but he could not. He could not allow himself to do this.

                                "No... I had only thought you and I might spend time together..." John muttered, looking down.  "Sorry to have disturbed you." He turned and walked towards the door, his back rigid. Mycroft softened for a moment, his heart aching terribly. John had fought with Sherlock simply to have time with him... He could not allow it.

                                "I do not know why you would have bothered, Sherlock is your mate." Mycroft snapped at him, his jealousy rearing its' head.  John went tight, like a child scolded.

                                "I care for you..." He started to protest, turning back.

                                "Go back to your mate, mender." Mycroft ordered, glaring at him.

                John shuffled out of the room and for all Mycroft knew he returned to Sherlock. Mycroft certainly did not see him for the next several days. However Mycroft did not know that neither did Sherlock. Sherlock believed that John was somewhere with his brother and his anger did not subside the entire time. When John returned to their room he met with Sherlock's anger and Sherlock barely registered that John looked upset. Their argument shook the entire wing of the house until Sherlock finally relented. John could spend one full day and night cycle with Mycroft every fortnight. In return John would not make any attempt to spend time with Mycroft alone otherwise, with exception of when Sherlock sank into one of his dark moods. And so things went, every fortnight John would go to Mycroft, seeking to spend time with him only to be rejected. After which he would remain at large for the full day and return to Sherlock and his anger. About four months following the beginning of the arrangement, Sherlock was sprawled on the couch in his room - in the same position he took every fortnight while John was away - when Mycroft burst into the room with a letter in his hand and a look of confusion on his face. Sherlock raised an eyebrow as he turned to look at his brother, his anger clear on his face.

                                "Where is your mate? We need to plan for the engagement dinner." Mycroft snapped and Sherlock's rage instantly filled the room.

                                "What do you mean where is John?! He is with you! The same place he has been every fortnight for months!" Sherlock raged at him, growling as he stepped closer to his brother.

                                "What are you talking about Sherlock? Is this some sort of joke, where is your mender?" Mycroft's voice was a dark growl. He looked deeply angered by Sherlock's insinuations.

                                "This is not a joke Mycroft. Every fortnight for months now he has come to spend the day with you. He has not returned and was not expected to return to me until sunset!" Panic filtered through Sherlock's mind, if John hadn't been with Mycroft where had he been all those days?

                                "With me?" Mycroft looked confused, his mind working quickly. It dawned on him, every time he'd turned John away it had been on a fortnight cycle. If he hadn't returned to Sherlock where was he. "He did not return to you?" His concern filtered through his voice.

                                "What do you mean return to me?!" Sherlock demanded darkly, his eyes burning into Mycroft.

                                "I've sent him away. Every time. I am not willing to indulge the sentiment of..." Sherlock growled in anger and slammed Mycroft into the door.

                                "You sent him away!? Do you have any idea what he goes through to gain that time with you?!"

                                "He should suffer if he is careless enough do this!" Mycroft snapped back, struggling against his brother's grip.

                                "He is not careless! He is concerned for your heart!" Sherlock shouted. "WHERE IS HE?!" He demanded, almost choking his brother. Mycroft's reply was cut off.

                                "He is in the Gardener's thatch." George said darkly his arms crossed. "Which is where he has stayed every fortnight when he is rejected." George had been with Mycroft, planning the travel preparations for the impending wedding.

                                "The Gardener's..." Sherlock began but did not unwind his hands from his brother's lapels.

                                "Why on earth..." Mycroft added.

                                "He has stayed there from the first night when he argued with Sherlock and left him in a rage to come to you. I found him there rather upset the next morning and he asked me not to tell anyone." George sighed.

                                "Why did you not tell me?" Mycroft demanded, forcing Sherlock off of him.

                                "He was the one whose decision it was. He is safe and secured so I saw no reason to inform the two men who are abusing the privilege of his heart continue to injure him so." George did not recoil when Mycroft got in his face, he stayed exactly where he was.

                                "You would do well to remember your place." He ordered darkly.

                                "You would do well to remember what it is like to suffer the wrath of your brother. John has been nothing short of kind to everyone here and the two of you have seen fit to abuse that. He is a tender soul with compassion for all of us, we will not see him suffer so." George added darkly, before stepping back into the hallway.

                                "Why do you keep him away?" Sherlock demanded, looking at his brother with confusion. "He fights me for hours to gain such little time with you, he endures my anger when he returns, suffers through so much to gain my favor to care for you and now I find he has been suffering for not." Sherlock's features were tight as Mycroft looked at him.

                                "He is your mate, Sherlock. You have been deathly afraid of someone claiming him from you, so I am ensuring that doesn't happen. It is not my concern that your mate has lied to you. You should address that with him."

                                "Mycroft he loves you."

                                "He should not. I am his Sire only. You are his mate." Mycroft snapped, his face tensed.

                                "You would rather injure your heart and his than share him, is that what you are trying to convey?" Sherlock demanded softly.

                                "It is nothing like that!" He growled, looking hurt. "It is better this way. You and he can enjoy your..."

                                "Mycroft you promised me," Sherlock rounded on him, getting back into his face. "You promised both of us that you would care for him if I could not. He wishes to maintain a bond with you even now. Why do you push him away?"

                                "Why do you care?"

                                "Because I am the one who has to see the dark look that sweeps over his face when he sees you walk past without so much as turning your head to him. I am the one who has seen how he has faltered in his confidence because just as he was gaining surety that he held both our hearts he has been seemingly told by you that you hold no concern for him. I am the one who must watch as he carefully tries to hide his hurting heart for fear of my jealousy and anger. I cannot control how I feel, I cannot stop my jealousy however I have tried to put it aside for him. Because I love him and it kills him to see how far away you are." Sherlock softened and stepped back, his brow furrowed.

                                "Distance serves us better." Mycroft whispered and swept from the room.

                Sherlock sighed and resigned himself to wait for John, instead of tearing down to find him. He wanted John to save what courage he had. He perked up when he heard John's footsteps on the far staircase and focused his senses. He listened to the quality of his gait, how he shuffled slowly across the house towards their room. He could almost feel the fear as he expected and planned for Sherlock's anger and jealousy to explode as they always did. Sherlock felt ashamed of himself. He had constantly told John he would not stand in the way of his feelings for Mycroft and yet he made John feel so badly about carrying them that John locked himself away in the gardener's shed instead of coming back to him when Mycroft rejected him. He had carried this rejection in his heart for months without daring to ask Sherlock to help him bear it. Sherlock huffed a sigh and promised himself that he would be better for John.

                                "I have returned." John said tentatively as he entered the room, bowing his head and waiting for the anger that normally came.

                                "Oh my John," Sherlock whispered and John's eyes snapped up to meet his gaze. He furrowed his brow, surprised to find gentleness where he expected anger. Sherlock came close to him and cupped his cheek. "All this time he has rejected you and you never once told me." He whispered, pulling John tightly to his body.

                                "I do not know what..." He began, fighting the emotion in his voice.

                                "Do not lie. He was just here looking for you, for us." Sherlock's voice was soft, his breath washing over John's face as he leaned in to him. John buried his head against Sherlock's shoulder, wrapping his arms around his waist. "Why did you not return to me when he pushed you away?"

                                "I..." He looked ashamed, upset he had been discovered. "You were so angry with me I thought it best to keep your anger focused on me. Rather than having you shift your attention to him. He has his reasons for not wanting me any longer. I suppose I have finally bored him. It was to be expected..."

                                "John, my little one, it is nothing like that." Sherlock promised and lifted his chin. "You are not boring. Do not let the lies of your family continue to cloud your mind." Their eyes locked and Sherlock read John like a book.

                                "He has been distant with me ever since your dark mood. I believe I have angered him by being with him and being so predictably angry." He shuddered as a tear fell.

                                "I believe the opposite is true, my little love. I believe that he cares deeply for you and yet does not want to give you more torment by having you torn between us. I shall endeavor to be better, John. I do not want you hiding in the thatch any more. I want you to return to me and allow me to help you through the sea of your emotion. I am not the best at it, but I wish to try for you." He leaned down and claimed John's mouth in a gentle kiss, tightening his hold on him until their bodies were flush together. John shivered as his emotion tried to break free and Sherlock kept kissing him until he felt John melt into the comfort of their embrace.

                The next day just before noon Mycroft summoned them down to the dining room to discuss the planned social engagements ahead. He refused to look at John, but felt the ripple of sorrow that went through the mender when he tried and failed to gain Mycroft's attention. Sherlock kept his hand on the small of John's back, helping him down into his chair before taking his own and glaring at his brother.

                                "The Duke has summoned us to his home this evening for the engagement dinner for Moriarty and your cousin, John. Following the dinner this evening the wedding festivities will begin next week, culminating in the wedding the following Saturday. You two are expected to attend almost all of the events as Elizabeth sees you as her brother of sorts, John." Mycroft's voice was careful and guarded.

                                "Very well." John said softly, his eyes on the floor. Mycroft sighed.

                                "Lord Moran will be present as he has been Moriarty's guardian for the majority of his life. Please do not make a fool of us." Sherlock's gaze hardened.

                                "John will be perfect as he always is." He snapped. John tensed.

                                "Please do not fight, I shall follow all of my training." He said hollowly.

                The evening came quickly and the three men were silent for the carriage ride to the Duke's manor. John was greeted joyfully by his cousin who hugged him and thanked him for all of his help over the last few months. John noticed that Moriarty was lurking near the table and he thought he saw him drop something into several of the glasses, notably those for Sherlock, Sebastian, and John himself. They group chatted away for a long time before beginning to move towards the table. John attempted to get Sherlock's glass but he swept it up in his hand, holding it but lost in conversation with Mycroft and Elizabeth and not yet drinking from it. John took Sebastian's, who watched with fascination as John first sniffed the drink and then downed the contents of both Sebastian's and his own glass in short fashion.

                                "Sherlock," John said in a hoarse voice. He motioned for the cup but Sherlock refused to give it to him. "Do not drink it..." He stood and stumbled. Sebastian grabbed him, helping him up.

                                "John?" Sherlock asked and stood but Mycroft was to him faster, unable to hide his emotion when John was in danger.

                                "Our drinks were poisoned." He forced out, his entire body shivering. He felt the way his body reacted, it was an aphrodisiac. John understood immediately, Moriarty intended to make Sebastian betray himself and his feelings for John and use the other to enforce Sherlock's anger.

                                "He should be taken home, shall I send a doctor?" The Duke asked in a concerned voice.

                                " _John, who?_ " Sherlock looked at him.

                                " _Moriarty... It is an aphrodisiac. He intended to make us embarrass ourselves. I drank Sebastian's and my own... The effect is already beginning. He intended for us to betray ourselves. He is trying to deface Sebastian as well as you and I._ " John grunted and made it look like he was in pain.

                                "My brother will take him home." Sherlock said suddenly. Mycroft looked alarmed and John looked confused. "I will remain here and see if we can sort out who attempted to ruin Elizabeth's joy." His voice was firm. "Lord Moran would you assist me in repairing this dinner party?" He asked it firmly and Sebastian easily understood.

                                "Of course, Lord Holmes please take good care of John. He has done a great service in keeping us from falling ill." Sebastian let go, letting John into Mycroft's grip.

                                " _Brother what is the meaning of this?_ " Mycroft demanded, even as he made the motions of saying goodbye to those in attendance.

                                " _Consider it a gift. I must remain behind to prove that this was done by someone in Moriarty's employ and to speak with Lord Moran about it. Take him home and for all that is good in this world, care for him properly or I will enact my anger on you._ " Sherlock swept over and gently took Elizabeth's hand. "Do not fear, he will be fine."

                                "My apologies..." John mumbled as Mycroft led him out.

                                "Why would someone poison the drinks?" Elizabeth's voice was soft, full of tears.

                Mycroft helped John into the carriage, feeling the arousal sweeping through the mender's body. He looked utterly concerned and somewhat terrified as John looked him over. He was trying to read the look on his face. John knew Sherlock must have said Mycroft would take him in order to force Mycroft to be with him. It made shame flood through his body.

                                "You... You should have stayed." John forced out, moaning deeply. "You do not..."

                                "John hush," Mycroft's voice was soft and he moved closer to him. "What is the poison?"

                                "It is an herb... It is used in folk magic for desire." He forced out, clenching his fist. "The effects of the herb are tripled in vampires." He barely breathed, he could not stop himself as he forced his mouth to Mycroft's, digging his nails into his shoulder. Mycroft could not stop as he responded, the months of the absence of John's touch forcing him to betray his truth. "My apologies..." John whispered, forcing himself to pull back. "Sherlock should not have forced this on you..."

                                "He did so for a reason," Mycroft moved closer and put his hand on his cheek. "Which I understand now. You have suffered so much trying to keep your heart afloat between us. Sherlock has done this to force me to confront my feelings and to salve my heart." He motioned to George to stay back and he helped John into the house on his own.

                                "Either way he should not force this on you. I will not be able to control myself." John muttered as Mycroft led him to his room.

                                "There is no need to fight it." Mycroft assured him. "I have been distant with you in order to try to persuade you to remove your feelings from me. You have proven to me that I cannot do so. Therefore it would be simpler for me to concede that I love you than to continue this torturous charade."

                                "God," John groaned as fire bloomed in his stomach. Mycroft closed the door to his room, turning to face John. "Y-you love me?" He asked in a shaking voice.

                                "Whatever you need from me, John, take it." He whispered as John collided with him, their lips and bodies meeting in a desperate frenzy.

                Sherlock returned to the manor late that evening, content that the events of the evening had been delicately managed and the guilty party sufficiently explained. He knew Moriarty would worm his way out of punishment. His excuse had been that one of his servants explained the herb would help vampires enjoy normal food more than they already did. Elizabeth had taken the explanation at face value and forgiven him, but Moran and Sherlock knew otherwise. Lord Moran promised to find out what Moriarty's intentions had been and Sherlock believed him. The anger the man held for the fact that John was a target was enough to both enrage his jealousy and to soothe his worry about Moriarty. Sherlock opted to walk down the hallway near Mycroft's room in order to be sure his beloved was taken care of and was surprised when he saw John leaving Mycroft's room, still trembling but otherwise seemingly alright. He smiled as John looked up at him, shakily pulling a dressing gown around himself.

                                "I felt you arrive." John said softly, his eyes meeting Sherlock's.

                                "You should be resting. How are you feeling?" He asked quietly, as John nuzzled into his arms.

                                "There is still fire raging in my blood. I am rather grateful you did not allow me to drink your glass as well." He conceded, smiling as Sherlock wrapped around him.

                                "I can feel the tremors in your skin... Why is my brother not taking care of this for you?" He smirked as John blushed.

                                "Mycroft is sleeping." Sherlock chuckled lowly.

                                "So you bed him well then..." Sherlock's voice purred low, he could feel the arousal that was still swimming in John's blood. The arousal that hummed across their bond and began to stir inside his own body. The possessiveness welled up in his chest, along with a powerful need to reclaim what was his.

                                "You knew how he felt all this time. You knew he loved me." John's voice was almost demanding as he looked up to meet Sherlock's eyes. The fire burned between them and Sherlock's eyes were dark with lust.

                                "I did. I knew however he did not want me to tell you. And you may rest assured, _my John_ , that he will never love you so much as I do." Sherlock grabbed John and threw him into the wall, following him and feverishly claiming his mouth. John groaned and arched as Sherlock attacked him. "You're mine." He growled softly against his neck, groaning deeply as John stroked him over his trousers before making short work of removing them.

                Sherlock hoisted John up, ripping his dressing gown open and pinning him violently between the wall and his body. He slammed his hips into him, growling as John moaned and writhed. Sherlock knew John had been writhing under Mycroft for hours, but he was still so tight and so very needy. The arousal pouring off John built and swirled in Sherlock's body until he could think of nothing else but the warm heat surrounding him. He growled in possessiveness, his primal instinct to mark what was his blooming and raging in his chest. He furiously claimed John again and again against the wall until John shouted and released so hard he almost passed out. Sherlock followed soon after, managing a few more pumps of his hips before filling John and collapsing against the wall. John's legs slowly sank to the floor, but he clung to Sherlock to keep himself standing. Both of them panting and staring in each other's eyes in silence for a long time.

                                "Well that was certainly thrilling." Mycroft's voice was soft from beside them. John flushed from head to toe but the brothers laughed softly.

                                "I apologize for waking you." Sherlock smirked, pulling John tightly to him.

                                "I expected as much, truthfully." Mycroft yawned a bit and carded his hand through John's hair. John smiled up at him tiredly from Sherlock's arms.

                                "Our poor mender, you look well loved." Sherlock grinned, teasing him. John blushed and buried his face in Sherlock's arm.

                                 "As we do not know how long the affects of the herb shall last, perhaps you should come inside." Mycroft motioned to his door. A wide smirk crossed Sherlock's face, which John, half asleep in his arms did not see.

                                "Our mender needs mending." Sherlock replied simply and hoisted John into his arms, carrying him into the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on Vampiric abilities:
> 
> 1 - Compelling - this is a sort of forced mind control where the vampire uses the abilities on weaker vampires or mortals to coerce them into doing the vampires bidding. Vampires of the same power level (i.e. Sherlock and Mycroft) cannot use it on each other.
> 
> 2 - Shadow Walking - this is an ability to actually bend shadows and thus become invisible. If done in a room full of light it creates a black mist effect, if done in the dark the vampire blends in completely and the shadow simply moves with them.
> 
> 3 - Teleporting - Requires line of sight, short distances only.
> 
> 4 - Flight - Only mentioned here as my vampires in my original fiction work possess this ability. None of the vampires in this story do.
> 
> 5 - Mind Linking - this is both a Solvanar and a Vampire trait. The Solvanar can link with other Solvanar. Vampires with mortals, Solvanar, and Vampires.


	6. The First Strike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***TRIGGER WARNING***
> 
> John is still suffering the effects of the herb Moriarty slipped into their drinks during the engagement dinner, but that was just a trial run for something darker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Trigger warning***  
> This chapter contains depictions of non-consensual drug use leading to rape and the beginning of rape recovery. 
> 
>  
> 
> I apologize for the long delay between the last chapter and this one. I thought we were going one place, the boys had other ideas. Also apparently Mycroft wants to be with everyone ever. And I feel inclined to let him for now.
> 
> The next chapter will likely be just a heavy if not heavier than this one, but there will be fluff! Eventually!

                                "John..." Sherlock's voice was exhausted and ragged even as John continued to work in him. He was covered in a fine layer of sweat, clawing into John as he kept working. "John, I... I... I... No more! God, please no more!" He forced out. It had been hours and still John was not sated, lust still pouring off of him and radiating through their bond.

                                "Sherlock... God... I cannot stop." John grunted, his eyes glazed over. They'd been wrapped together for what felt like days but the fire in John's blood would not be calmed.

                                "I... I cannot handle anymore, please John, please stop!" Sherlock gasped, his body felt like it was fire. Every touch burning as the pleasure bled away and became pain.

                                "Come here, _my little mender_." Mycroft's voice was soft but stern in his ear, Sherlock almost sighing relief as his brother removed his dressing robe and pushed John onto his back on the bed. John was panting and whined when he was pulled away from Sherlock but groaned as Mycroft's arousal grew and became clear in his eyes.

                Mycroft pressed his mouth to the mender's desperate lips, wrapping him in his arms, as he caressed and teased every part of him he could reach. Sherlock shuddered finally feeling his body come relax as it backed away from the over sensitized edge of arousal, his attention focused on watching his brother and his lover. John shouted as Mycroft's fingers slipped inside of him, working and stretching the quivering, burning muscle. Neither had seen Mycroft reach for the oil nor had the mender been prepared for the sudden pressure but he arched into it and whimpered. Mycroft for his part worked slowly, teasingly, as he watched the mender writhe and press down onto his fingers.

                                "M-Mycroft... Why..." John tried to speak, his voice dissolving into loud, wanton moans.

                                "Sherlock reached for me. He said you were consumed by your blood lust and he could not handle you alone. He informed me of this the last time the lust took you however he told me he had been able to sate you then. This time he told me you were too much for him to handle alone." Mycroft's smirk was evident as he brushed John's prostate and watched him arch and writhe. "You have been keeping a secret, have you not?" He purred.

                                "The herb..." John grunted, clawing Mycroft's back as he shouted. "Please!" He whimpered and thrashed.

                Sherlock watched exhaustedly as Mycroft moved and prepared himself to claim his husband. He watched how John shivered and moaned, his entire body flush with need. His mind roving over the missed details. He'd missed the signs because John had been adeptly hiding them. The drug Moriarty had slipped them still had John in its grasp. He thought back over the last two months and could finally see the cycle of arousal that John had been battling. It seemed that every fortnight John was seized by this overpowering lust. John shouted as Mycroft buried himself to the hilt and slowly began rolling his hips forward. John groaning and writhing as Mycroft's mouth found his and claimed it almost violently. John shouted loudly as he released but his body did not relax, instead it tensed more, demanding even more from his lover. He tilted his head back, groaning as Mycroft ran his teeth over his pulse.

                Sherlock was enjoying the sounds his lover was making, his own contented purr spilling free as his gaze began focusing more on his brother. His entire being becoming enraptured by watching his brother's lean body as it moved in response to John's, how he shivered with desire, and how his eyes looked like they could devour the mender whole. A powerful burst of arousal swept through his chest, forcing him to moan softly as he conceded how much he enjoyed watching their mouths moving together. He moaned again wondering what his brother's lips felt like, what his mouth tasted like, what he _felt_ like. His mind snapped almost violently back from his musings as Mycroft murmured something to John. Sherlock had never once before found his mind wondering so loudly about his brother in those ways, however now they were like fire in his mind. John's whimper as Mycroft's teeth drug against his skin drew Sherlock out of his own thoughts.

                                "D-do not drink of me..." John warned, shivering violently. "If you drink of me the herb... Will be in your system." He groaned and arched as Mycroft drove home, pushing into John until he bottomed out and groaning deeply. "More, please!" John whimpered and Mycroft rolled his hips hard, continuing his work while trying to exhaust the mender.

                In the end it took both brothers pinning John between their bodies for hours to finally exhausted John enough to see him spent. The effort of which left the three of them utterly exhausted and worn. The two brothers collapsing exhaustedly beside the panting mender before the three succumbed to sleep. It took several days for the trio to recover their strength and once they had John renewed his efforts to research a cure for the herb. While he toiled away in the library the brothers met in secret and created a contingency plan for the next bout of arousal, something that would allow them to fully enjoy the benefits without the excessive exhaustion. John spent days on end in the library pouring through his books (recovered from his parents home) and those of the Holmes' to try and discover an antidote or some cure that would at least pull the herb from his system. So far however his efforts had been limited, succeeding only in limiting the episodes to one a month. Though the fact he was able to make any progress was astounding as he was more often than not pulled from his work to attend to Elizabeth's constant requirement of his presence as he assisted her in the planning of her wedding to James Moriarty.

                A wedding that aside from the dress that required ten attendants, a groom who looked angry instead of pleased, too many dignitaries to remember, and enough wasted expense would never be looked upon fondly by anyone in attendance. Especially not by either of the Holmes brothers, whom were they given the choice would have opted for a leisurely day at home. However with John so innately involved in the preparing of the event they had no choice but to attend in order to support him. They certainly could not see John go alone to any social outing that might leave him a victim of Moriarty's devices. Though they were sure to voice their displeasure, loudly and repeatedly. The Holmes family was tentative at best with the groom following his attempt to poison them all. The punishment had been slight, at best, but Elizabeth had beseeched the Holmes men to forgive him and they had grudgingly agreed. Which was why the brothers stood, backs rigidly pressed to the wall, beside an equally grumpy Sebastian Moran as they watched John dance with the bride.

                                "It's a lovely affair." John whispered to his cousin as they danced, her hands nervously smoothing his collar.

                                "Oh it's all because of you! You have been indispensible in the last few months John. What would I have done without you?" She laughed. "You should be dancing with your husband." She scolded him.

                                "Oh I have and will be again. And likely our brother." He laughed with her. They were both a tad nervous each concerned about the possessiveness of their respective husbands and about the fact that their husbands often spoke ill of the other's mate. She continued her efforts smoothing his collar, trying to mollify his nerves because she assumed (rightly so) they were in regards to her groom.

                                "I know you're upset about James... I... Are you still suffering?" She asked quietly, looking ashamed and blushing slightly when he tutted at her.

                                "No frowning on your wedding day." John scolded softly, grinning. Was he still suffering the effects of the herb? Well yes but not entirely. Suffering wasn't _quite_ the right word. "It has reminded me of what is important." He said as firmly as he could, fighting the blush on his cheeks as he recalled the last time the herb had affected him. He still wasn't sure he was walking properly. Sherlock growled and swept across the floor to cut in, stealing his husband away and dancing him off to the edge of the floor.

                                "Sherlock, that was not polite." John scolded him, sighing.

                                "I simply do not care, John. This is trite and boring. Please may we return home now?" He begged. John turned to see that Elizabeth was sufficiently engrossed with her displeased groom and glowing father so he conceded.

                Sebastian accompanied them back to Holmes manor, sinking down at a chair in the drawing room as the other men settled and watched him. He took the blood wine he was offered and the four men sat in silence for a long moment until he finally spoke.

                                "I apologize that James' punishment was lacking. I have pressed my coven to issue a stiffer penalty however they have chosen to believe his lies." Sebastian sighed and sipped the wine.

                                "It's quite alright Sebastian, we all know you have done what you could." Mycroft offered, sipping his wine and watching the mender stare out the window. "James is dangerous."

                                "He is, he has continued in his attempts to take over my coven. He has allied himself with my grandson in an attempt to gain control. He continues to use my fondness for John as a means to gain support. It will not work however he continues to try." He sighed.

                                "Well he is a handful and I suppose you shall think more closely on your fledglings in the future." Mycroft's tone was polite but the comment was stern.

                                "Not all of us are so lucky as you." Moran replied with a soft growl, his eyes flicking over to John.

                John's attention was far from the room, his mind focused instead on some internal rambling as he continued to stare out the window. Sherlock watched him closely, exchanging a dark look with Mycroft. They continued their discussions with Moran before he finally stood, finally addressing the silent mender.

                                "John, are you unwell?" He asked softly.

                                "I am fine. Thank you." He smiled and returned his gaze to the room. He was pale. "I apologize, my mind is far from me now." He whispered.

                                "I believe I shall return to ensure James is keeping an eye on his wife and not trying to ruin the first logical thing he has ever done." Moran nodded and left.

                                "John?" Sherlock asked quietly as the door closed, John turned to him.

                                "I need to feed." He whispered, his eyes dark.

                                "Oh..." Sherlock ticked off the date in his mind and smiled. "Brother mine..."

                                "Of course." Mycroft smiled and took John to feed.

                Sherlock had the entire room ready before they returned. Mycroft led John to the feeders and as soon as he'd taken his fill he was all over Mycroft. His mouth hungrily searching for purchase on Mycroft's jaw, neck, lips, anywhere he could reach. He pushed him back into the wall, moaning as he did, but Mycroft caught him around the shoulders and held him firmly back, trying to ease the fire raging in his body. It was incredible how lost in his lust John could become and Mycroft wanted to ensure they were secure within their room before this progressed too far. John fought him, scrambling to get free and claim his desire from him.

                                "Easy, John." He coaxed, scooping the mender up and carrying him to the room. Sherlock was naked and waiting, taking his time to strip John while Mycroft restrained him with kisses.

                                "Please... Let me..." John whimpered, clawing at Mycroft as the elder brother held him by the shoulders.

                                "Hush mender, in time..." Mycroft purred in his ear as Sherlock restrained the struggling mender's arms behind him, tying them tightly with a length of rope.

                                "W-what are you doing?" His voice shook as he tugged and found he couldn't get free.

                                "We have to take care of you, my John." Sherlock purred in his ear, pushing him back towards the bed as Mycroft removed his clothing.

                                "I... Let me free." He pleaded, giving Sherlock a deeply tormented look. Sherlock felt something in his chest twinge but he knew he could not. John whined and whimpered, trying desperately to free himself.

                                "Easy _my little mender_ ," Mycroft purred, instantly drawing John's gaze. He ghosted his hands over John's body, listening to him moan. "You become far too possessed of your lust in this state for us to continue to allow you free reign." He whispered darkly, grazing his teeth over the shell of the ear of the squirming mess of need that John was quickly dissolving into. "If you want the relief you desire you will do exactly as we say."

                                "Look how hard you are already." Sherlock whispered, his soft baritone washing over John and making him whine. "You like this, _my John_ , you like how we are restraining you. How, ever did I miss this side of you?" He licked a hot trail over John's neck, moaning against it as John let out a feral growl.

                                "S-Stop tormenting me!" He ordered, clawing his hands into the bed.

                                "Hush now, little one." Mycroft smacked his thigh gently and John arched as lighting shot through his body. He whimpered but stopped speaking. "You want to be touched do you not?" He asked firmly.

                                "Y-yes, please yes."

                                "Then you must do as we say." Sherlock ordered nipping his ear.

                                "Exactly as we say." Mycroft's tone became firmer as he leaned down so his mouth was barely a breaths away from John's.

                                "P-please." John begged, whimpering and struggling against the rope that held him. Trying to lean up and kiss Mycroft.

                                "Clever mender," He purred, pushing him back down and joining their lips in a heated kiss.

                                "Your own foolishness has brought you to this point, _my John_. Drinking both of those glasses and aiming to drink mine as well... What would we have done with you filled with so much lust?" Sherlock let his fingers flutter down over John's chest, enjoying how he moaned in Mycroft's  mouth.

                Sherlock's mind had been rampant with thoughts of his brother since their last bout against this blood passion in the little mender.  Thoughts that he'd locked away as mere folly barreling to the surface as his gaze burned into his brother's form. He had to concede that watching how easily his brother worked his lover into a frenzy had become deeply pleasuring. Perhaps the situation was now established enough it would allow Sherlock to conduct an experiment. He slowly ghosted his fingers up over his brother's shoulder and across neck, raising an eyebrow with a smirk as he saw goose pimples cover his brother's flesh. Mycroft let out a soft moan, pulling up and away from John's mouth before turning to look at his brother with a confused and incredulous glare. John was caught between his own desperation and the slow smoldering heat passing between the brother's glances, his own breath hitching as it was sucked from his lungs by the fire burning between them.  Mycroft felt his skin flutter as Sherlock wound his fingers in his hair and tugged gently, his confusion deepening. This was not arranged or discussed, though if he was honest it was also not... Unwelcome. A smirk barely twitched at the edge of Sherlock's mouth before he pressed up and kissed his brother, enjoying the surprised moans that came from both his brother and their desperate lover. There was a struggle and suddenly Sherlock was pressed back into the bed, Mycroft plundering his mouth and grasping his hair possessively. John whimpered and struggled but half of Mycroft's body was still on him, keeping him pinned to the bed. The noises issuing from the throats of the brothers resonated in John until his entire body felt like it was liquid.

                                "P-Please!" John begged, finding friction against Mycroft's belly and bucking up into it repeatedly as he sought some relief for the fire pooling inside him. Mycroft chuckled and pulled away from Sherlock, smirking more as he affected his normal demeanor though he had been utterly shaken to his core. That kiss had revealed volumes about his brother and how often those secret thoughts graced their minds. How often had the other considered sharing in such carnal pleasures with him? Why had he worked so diligently to keep himself so removed? Thousands of questions burned into his mind but his brother's voice cut through the cacophony of thoughts.

                                "Brother, our mender needs us." He ordered darkly, smiling as Sherlock turned his attention to John.

                                "So it would seem, tell me _little mender_ , did you like that? You have grown so much firmer since I let my brother touch me." Sherlock smirked as John bucked into his hand, his fingers caressing the his length. "Did it please you to see my brother working against me?"

                                "I... God I never imagined the two of you..." John writhed again. "Touch me more, please! Use me! Please." Mycroft smirked.

                                "Claim him brother." Mycroft moved so Sherlock could take his place over the mender, watching as Sherlock leaned down and kissed him.

                Mycroft slicked two fingers and pressed them inside John, enjoying how his shout was muffled into Sherlock's mouth. He watched as the lovers moaned and built each others' arousal to the point both of them were shaking with need. When Mycroft felt John was sufficiently stretched he pushed Sherlock forward, nudging him into position. Sherlock pressed into John moaning as he did, but it was nothing like the moan that ripped free of him as Mycroft pressed those two slicked fingers inside of _him_.

                                "Sherlock!" John shouted as he bucked forward, groaning as his hands pulled hard against the ropes trapped under his body. Sherlock was undone, his mind shorting out as it was caught between the feel of both his lovers.

                                "M-Mycroft..." Sherlock whined, panting for breath. Mycroft smirked and moved behind Sherlock, pushing his fingers in deeper. "Oh my dear God, brother what are you doing? " He panted incredulously, gasping as Mycroft stroked that bundle of nerves.

                                "I am simply following along with your experiment." Mycroft purred darkly against his brother's ear. He kept his fingers moving, watching how Sherlock melted from the sensation of John around him and Mycroft's fingers stroking inside him. Sherlock for his part was enraptured. This feeling was far too much, far too glorious, and far too addicting.

                                "Oh that face..." John groaned as Sherlock's eyes fluttered closed, his back arched up splaying his long lean body against that of his brother's as he trembled. "Mycroft... Take him..." John pleaded, pushing up into Sherlock as Mycroft pushed his fingers more deeply inside. Sherlock jolted hard. Mycroft moaned softly against Sherlock's ear, pressing possessive kisses to it before following with sharp bites.

                                "W-what are you..." Sherlock whimpered. Mycroft pulled his fingers away and left Sherlock empty and aching. He paused for a moment listening to his brother's whimpers of protest, watching John's enthralled face as he drank in every motion the two brothers made. Mycroft waited until Sherlock was completely off balance before pushing in, slowly bracing himself until he was flush with Sherlock's body. Enjoying the way the sensation sparked like lightning through all of three of them.                      "Look at you." Mycroft purred as Sherlock was momentarily overwhelmed. John groaned and easily pushed up as Mycroft rolled his hips forward forcing Sherlock down deeper into John. Sherlock shouted, melting into his brother's hands. "How long you must have wanted this and yet you never spoke of it." He thread his fingers through his brother's hair and tilted his head back, growling as he attacked Sherlock's neck with possessive nips and kisses.

                                "Oh God! You two are incredible..." John gasped out in a voice thick with lust, his cock twitching against his belly.

                                "Oh listen to him brother, he likes this." Mycroft's voice was dark and thick with possessive arousal. "He likes seeing you pinned between us, gasping like a whore." He rolled his hips forward again, forcing Sherlock forward into John and enjoying their joint moans. Just like this it was terribly easy for him to own both his lovers.

                                "My... Mycroft..." Sherlock panted, sinking down so he braced over John on shaking arms. His voice tight and desperate with need, tinged with disbelief as the desire rolled through him.

                                "Yes, _brother mine_?" He purred.

                                "H-harder." He barely breathed as he forced out the words, shouting when Mycroft replied with his actions. Sherlock met John's mouth with liquid heat and the two dissolved into the fire as all three of their bodies sank into the desperation for release that burned like white hot metal between them. Sherlock could do nothing but follow the pace set by his brother as Mycroft enjoyed the feel of claiming them both.

                                "Sherlock!" John shouted as Sherlock slammed into him, arching and struggling harder against the ropes that bound him. The lust that rolled through his body was driven to new and even more powerful heights as he watched Sherlock give in to one of his darkest, most secret desires. Sherlock leaned up and shouted as Mycroft's teeth pierced his neck, John groaning and clenching as he released, taking Sherlock with him. Mycroft pumped furiously into Sherlock a few more times before wrenching off Sherlock's neck and growling as his own release took him.

                It took some time for the brother's to recover enough of their faculties to remove the bonds from John and even longer for them to finally break him down enough to see him sink to sleep. Both of the brothers were exhausted, but they lay with John comfortably sandwiched between them and gazed at each other in silence before Mycroft lifted a hand to brush an errant curl away from Sherlock's cheek, allowing the caress to linger.

                                " _I never considered you could possibly feel this way as well._ " Sherlock's voice was a bit timid and full of exhaustion.

                                " _I can confess that I had considered and dismissed the notion many years ago. However it seems our mender inspires us to new territory._ " He smirked, nuzzling his nose into John's hair and breaking into a full grin as John huffed a small sigh of pleasure.

                                " _And what? Am I to believe you would consider this without him present?_ " He demanded angrily, suddenly defensive.

                                " _Calm yourself brother mine, I did not mean it as such. Seeing you come apart the way you did under my work would definitely be something I wish to witness again. With or without our dear mender present._ " He chuckled softly as Sherlock flushed. " _Rest now, we are never sure if the arousal will take him again when he wakes._ "

                                “ _He will not be taken by the desperate need again. His body is completely soft.”_ Sherlock’s voice was soft.

                They drifted off, enjoying the closeness of each other and John. They slept for hours before Anthea slowly crept in the room and just barely nudged John’s foot. John opened his eyes and looked down at her before sliding out of the grip of the brothers to stand beside her. They both smiled as Sherlock instinctively curled closer to Mycroft, burying his head against the long expanse of his brother's torso. Anthea helped John into his dressing gown and led him just outside the room.

                                “Lady Moriarty has sent for you,” She whispered softly. “She apparently took ill this morning while she was in the garden. She wants you as her doctor and will accept no other.”

                                "Very well, I'll dress and go at once. Will you inform them when they wake?" He asked quickly.

                                "Of course. Go to your cousin." She smiled. She looked after John for a moment, noticing something different about him but unable to put her finger on what it was.

                John made short work of dressing and hastily arrived at Elizabeth's manor. He was ushered inside by one of her servants to a room where she was lying propped up in a large four poster bed. He came in a took her hand, feeling how cold and clammy she was.

                                "Thank you for coming so swiftly." She said tiredly.

                                "You are supposed to be celebrating your wedding, not falling ill." John countered and he immediately began to check her heart rate, her skin, her eyes, her temperature, and other visible signs of illness. "Tell me what happened."

                                "I went out this morning to work in the garden, we are not due to travel to France for some time and I wanted to ensure the house was well prepared for our absence. When the sunlight fell on me I fainted and woke here in this room." She sighed as she shivered.

                                "Tell me, my dearest Lizzy, have you and your husband been together prior to the wedding night?" He asked softly, sitting down on the bed.

                                "Yes." She blushed a bit. "A few times."

                                "Hm..." John smirked. "You do know his heritage?"

                                "Yes he is like you." She nodded.

                                "You are perfectly well my lovely cousin. You are with a child." He smiled and she gasped in surprise.

                                "Truly?!" She almost shouted.

                                "Yes. The sunlight will weaken you for a time early on in your pregnancy. It is a complication due to the vampire blood your child carries. She will be fine, as will you."

                                "She?"

                                "Ah yes, let me explain." He pushed a piece of hair out of her face. "Vampire men can only have children with mortal women. In the case of a pregnancy the child will look exactly as her mother does. She will be both mortal and vampire, someone who walks in between. If she chooses a mortal mate for her lifetime she will have mortal children, if she chooses a vampire she shall have children like herself. Always a girl, unless her daughter also chooses a mortal man."

                                "Oh John, a daughter..." She clasped his hand. "Please, will you stay and tell James? He has been resting all day and does not know of my illness or the cause." She sank back tiredly.

                                "Of course." He said firmly, but his eyes were hard.

                Elizabeth sank to sleep and John swept out into the sitting room to wait for James. He did not wait long however before James swept through on his way to Elizabeth and paused just passed the doorway. He took two steps backwards and turned his head to look at John with a devilish grin, the sort of which made John desperately uncomfortable. He entered the room and greeted John as formality dictated.

                                "I came at the call of your wife." John said firmly, his guard up and eyes darkened. "She took ill this morning and I believe the only illness that it can be said she carries is your child." James brightened up, his eyes wide but focused.

                                "A child? Really?" He demanded, sounding giddy and excited, but John saw something cold in his glare. "My wife is a fine specimen to be sure! We should celebrate. You will celebrate with me won't you? I don't have anyone else!" He dashed over to the sideboard and opened a bottle of bloodwine, pouring them each a glass. "Please tell me you will. I know there has been bad blood between us John, however this is a cause for peace. This shall be a blessing for us all!" He sat down across from John his eyes never leaving him.

                                "Are you truly wanting of a child? When last we spoke on the matter you seemed to state that you did not wish for them." John asked hesitantly. His mind felt a bit fuzzy, he wondered why James had been able to approach the room without John being able to sense it. He made a mental note to add that as a symptom of the herb. He watched as James took a sip of his wine and made a motion for John to enjoy his.

                                "I am. Elizabeth is a fine woman, John. I was wrong to consider her otherwise. She will make an excellent mother. Do you not like bloodwine? This is an excellently aged one, it was made from Sebastian's daughter's blood." He sounded friendly enough and though warnings blared in the back of John's mind he found himself inclined to take a deep drink.

                                "She is and has been. I am happy to hear that you have seen the truth." His voice shook and the cup shook in his hand. Something was wrong, most decidedly and absolutely wrong. A familiar fire built in his veins and he fought to keep his mind focused. It would not do to succumb to this now, here, with him. Mycroft and Sherlock had helped him just last night. He should have been fine for another month.

                                "Unless you are given more." James voice was in his ear, he snapped his eyes up, his gaze wide with fear. James' smirked but only half his mouth twitched into the smile. He shouldn't be able to be this close to John. He should not have been able to sneak up on him. Alarms screamed in John's mind and he scrambled, trying to put distance between them. James pounced, sending John flying onto his back and gasping as James used his body to pin John to the floor. "Well, well..." He purred, his fingers trailing over John's face. John ignored the desperate whimper that clawed free of his chest. "It looks like I can touch you after all..."

                                "H-how?" John groaned, trying to claw at his chest. James kept his arms pinned and nuzzled the spot where John's necklace should have been, causing violent panic to rise in John's stomach. His eyes went even wider.

                                "Yes, how indeed, Johnny." James' aura expanded and John felt his mind giving up easily to the control that James' more adeptly trained magic desired. He was powerless to struggle. The wine had been poisoned, his necklace was missing, and he was weakened by the fight with the herb the night before. He'd walked right into James' trap. "Do you want to know?" He giggled, his tongue trailing a hot path up the side of John's neck to his ear. He tried again to ignore the breathless moans as his body ceded the battle.

                                "Get away from me." He tried to say firmly but his voice shook, his body responding to James' touch. He tried to struggle but James pinned him harder, enjoying the fight.

                                "You want me to touch you." The words were dark and they filled John's mind until his own thoughts seemed to shatter and break and all that remained were James' commands. "Look how needy you are, you're already whining for me like a bitch in heat." He growled, clawing John's cheek. John heard himself moan and felt his body responding but he did not want James to touch him. That was for certain. His mind felt oddly strangled and each thought of his own felt like it was moving through honey.

                                "Cease this!" He whimpered, clawing into James' hands where they held him pinned.

                                "I do not have to. I am going to claim you, right here on this floor. Then I'm going to leave you to the wolves." He giggled rolling his hips so he ground down on John, laughing harder as John moaned but tears formed in his eyes. "I am going to break you apart, John. Then I am going to watch as Sherlock finds you. As he discovers you tainted and broken. I shall be present to witness the moment he turns from you and you break. Elizabeth does not even recall that she loosened your necklace yesterday. What a silly thing for the Solvanar elders to decide, mortals can touch our shields. Your shield will not protect you now. Your mind belongs to me."

                John's mind went empty and hollow, the sound of Moriarty's voice was the only thing he could hear. Commands were issued and John knew he wished not to obey them, however he had no other choice. His only protection removed and his own training so woefully forgotten he had no chance. Tears still fell and pain came and went as his body broke under the waves of James voice. Then thankfully darkness settled and for the moment he knew no more of the horrors befalling him. Moriarty smirked as John's eyes went blank and glassed over, his mind settled into some dark corner to protect itself. He got up and dusted off before sitting in his chair.

                                "Come here." He ordered, grinning as the drugged and compelled mender crawled over, whimpering for touch. "Look at you," He purred, laughing as he tightly gripped and pulled his hair. "You do not even remember your name do you?"

                                "Please..." He whimpered, lowering his eyes.

                                "You are nothing, John Watson. You will never be anything. Sherlock will be mine and you will pay for what you have done to me. I think we shall begin now."

                Hours passed and Moriarty took his fill from the menders broken, ragged body. He cut him to watch him bleed, forced his own erection into him without preparation, watched as he writhed in pain even as he moaned for more, and preceded to violate the mender's body in every way possible until he was bored. He snapped and a blonde woman and a man resembling Sebastian appeared.

                                "Mary, Sebby darling, take this animal out back and entertain yourselves." He ordered, turning on his heel.

                                "What shall we do with him, milord?" The woman's voice was timid.

                                "Whatever your dark little heart desires." He purred, storming down to the servants quarters. "Helena," He barked.

                                "Yes, milord?" A dark haired woman appeared and bowed her head.

                                "You are to go to the Holmes estate, inform whomever greets you that your Lady has requested her cousin to remain beside her for the time being to watch over her illness. You will inform them that he shall give them more information when he is able, however they should not expect his return for several days. Tell them that Lady Elizabeth will be fine but that her health is delicate and she can stand little more than his company for the time being. Tell them he told you this himself and answer any relevant questions as necessary." The woman nodded, her eyes glazed however she turned on her heel and left.

                Mycroft woke first, grunting when he realized that John was no longer in bed with the brothers. Sherlock slowly dragged his lashes up to look up at his brother, wondering briefly at the fact they were curled together like lovers. Anthea gave a soft knock and entered as soon as Mycroft expressed his permission.

                                "I am sorry to disturb you, the mender informed me you needed your rest. However he asked that I be sure to inform you of his whereabouts. Lady Elizabeth summoned him just before darkfall yesterday. She asked him to come as her doctor and he went immediately, seeing no need to disturb you in your rest. One of their servants left only a while ago after informing us that Lady Elizabeth is in delicate health however she shall recover, though she has requested John to remain at her side until she does so. He estimates it will be a few days for her recovery and will send us more news as soon as he is able. " She reported dutifully.

                                "I am rather displeased he did not wake us." Mycroft frowned.

                                "He stated that you two would be very tired and needed your rest. He informed me you might not wake until tomorrow." She smiled and offered them blood.

                They both drank, displeased to learn they had been sleeping for almost two days, most of which John had not been present. Anthea seemed pleased with the report she'd received and the brothers consented to give John his prerogative in the matter, sinking back to sleep until darkfall the following night. Sherlock woke first, gazing up at his brother with intrigue, watching as he breathed and slept. His form _was_ rather pleasing to the eye, he conceded, noting that he would like to explore the reactions his brother made in response to certain stimuli. Perhaps he could compare them to John's. Before he could progress much farther in his musings however Mycroft's mouth was on his, his tongue plunging into explore the cavern of his mouth when he moaned in surprise. Sherlock flowed back as Mycroft pressed him down into the bed, their mouths moving furiously against one another. Sherlock's mind blanked as he clawed into his brother's shoulders, one hand moving to brace against the headboard. He froze, his entire body going rigid and Mycroft opened his eyes with confusion and concern. Sherlock pulled his hand out from under the pillow both of them growling darkly as they realized his hand had tightened around something metal. _The Oaken Shield_.

                                "Get dressed." Mycroft barked, sweeping out of the bed.

                The entire energy of the house shifted as the brother's prepared themselves. It became dark and feral. Anthea was the first to find one of the brothers, Mycroft, looking as if he was preparing for war. He dressed hurriedly, a long thin cane that contained a sword at his side. Sherlock was back with him in moments, his hand still tightly clasped around the necklace. Anthea's eyes went wide.

                                "How long has he been at the Moriarty estate?" Mycroft demanded and Anthea answered as firmly as she could.

                                "Three days." Her voice wavered.

                                "George." Sherlock snapped.

                                "Yes milords." George said firmly, coming to rest at their sides.

                They stepped into the crisp night, their eyes sharpening as their anger grew. They were just about to their gate when they were met by Sebastian. He had been on his way to look in on the newly wedded couple and contented himself to stop by the Holmes estate on the way. He saw the look on their faces however and easily fell into stride beside them. However neither of them were prepared for the low dark growl that issued forth from the ancient vampire when he realized John's shield was in Sherlock's hand.

                                "What has happened to the mender?" He demanded darkly.

                                "That is precisely what we are endeavoring to find out." Mycroft replied softly, fading into the shadows as they approached the manor.

                Elizabeth was sitting in the dining room when the servant escorted the group in and she looked very worried by the look on their faces. Moriarty was sitting with his face in his hands, as if ashamed of something, but his body language distracted from the impression. Mycroft narrowed his gaze however instead of speaking he turned to Sebastian, giving him reign where matters of his coven were due. Both men did not attempt to conceal their raised eyebrows as James jumped up from his place on the couch and moved over to the men.

                                "Father," James spoke quickly, moving to him and grabbing his hand. Sebastian conceded for a moment however when James looked up at him, he yanked his hand away. "What is wrong? I am in need your assistance." James' pleaded, his voice shaking.

                                "Where is John?" Mycroft demanded loudly, stopping Sherlock from speaking out. Sherlock's knuckles were white as he clenched his hand around the Oaken Shield.  

                                "He left two days ago... After..." Moriarty looked down, flushing with shame but neither Mycroft nor Sherlock missed the small smirk at the corners of his mouth as Elizabeth immediately moved to comfort him.

                                "He came when I called and told me that we have conceived. I was feeling very faint and he remained with me for a time to ensure I was well cared for. I asked him to tell James the good news in my stead, while I rested. James informed me that John was waiting for him upon his return and in his earnest to celebrate James offered him some of our store of bloodwine. James and John were both overcome by the effects of poison, it seems all of the bloodwine we possessed was poisoned with the same herb that our servant tricked James into giving you all at the engagement dinner. When..." Elizabeth took Moriarty's hand as he let out a soft noise again trying to comfort him. He however played his part well, though he was quite amused that none of the men believed his act for a moment.

                                "When we drank the wine we became overwhelmed with lust. Due to our proximity he and I shared a kiss, no more. Only a simple kiss," He said eagerly as if defending himself and John, Elizabeth shushing him and rubbing her hand soothingly over his back. "He caught himself promptly and informed me he should return to your manor. Then he simply left. I have not seen him since." He looked distressed, wringing his hands before looking up at them and feigning terror. "Are you saying he did not return home?" He grabbed Elizabeth's hands as she became concerned as well.

                                "We have not heard a word from him since the morning he left us for you." Sherlock forced out in as even a tone as he could muster.

                                "We would like to search the grounds." Mycroft said quietly, his rage building.

                                "Please he did not deserve any evil. Please find him." Elizabeth beseeched the men.

                The three men rejoined George on the ground floor before stalking from the house and out onto the grounds. Sherlock let his aura expand, trying to use his bond to locate his beloved. They were tense as their search was fruitless for several hours before they all turned to survey a series of noises near the kitchen doorway. A servant came slinking along the side of the house and grabbed Sherlock's arm, covering her face in fear when he turned and snarled at her. Mycroft held him back as the woman shook.

                                "Please milords, I..." She looked nervously up at the house. "Lord Moriarty has not allowed the servants to leave the house in three days. We all have been tormented in our quarters by strange noises coming from the unused stable out near the old garden." She motioned to a building in a clump of trees a bit away from the house. "I... I am sure I have heard Lord John's voice." She whispered, ducking her head as if expecting a blow to befall her.

                                "We will find him." Sherlock promised but his voice was dark. "You... I have seen you before, you served Lady Elizabeth in the Duke's residence?" Sherlock's voice softened.

                                "Yes milord. I have served her since she was a child." She shivered.

                                "I am pleased to know this. You have done well, be safe." He ordered, turning to stalk towards the stable.

                Each mans' body grew rigid and prepared for danger as they approached the derelict stable. Mycroft's anger skyrocketed as they heard voices followed closely by an anguished cry that could only have come from the mouth of the missing mender. Mycroft held up a hand to still the other three men as a snippet of conversation floated out to them.

                                "Listen to him whine like a whore. He has been here like this for three days and he is still as firm as a young boy. How many times has he released and he still craves more." A man's voice taunted, punctuated by more whimpers and moans from John. John shouted but his words were unintelligible.

                                "Listen to the poor thing. He has never had a woman until now, he is so large. I see why they all want him. He is filling me so full! He is utterly helpless though is he not? He has no reasoning to understand the feel of a woman's body around him." The woman's voice was cruel, a sharp gasp of pain and a low keening moan escaping John as she giggled. Sherlock tensed and prepared to launch himself into the building as they heard John shout loudly, his voice was hoarse and full of pain and tears. Mycroft was only just able to secure a hold on the back of his shirt before they both froze. Nothing could have prepared the Holmes men for the rage that swept through and swirled around Sebastian as he barreled full force into the stable, the doors flying off the hinges and into the room. That he was one of the _ancients_ was utterly clear as he drew himself up to full height in the flickering light of the fire in the stable. The woman and her accomplice both froze in place - her naked and mounted on John and the man dragging a knife blade down John's chest. Their eyes went wide and they turned to make an escape before freezing anew.

                                "Fledglings, ON. YOUR. KNEES!" Sebastian bellowed and both of them immediately sank to the ground, blank as dolls, as the power of their Sire compelled them to listen. With the culprits in hand Mycroft and Sherlock took a moment to survey the scene before them.

                It was not a pleasant situation. There was blood spilled in all directions, making the dirt floor with spray patterns of various strengths and lengths. John was balanced precariously on a narrow table, his wrists bound and stretched above his head, his ankles bound together and all of the restraints tied to a long rope so he could be maneuvered around. He had dried blood, semen, spit, dirt, and other substances dried and caked all over his body, his cheeks tear stained and swollen. He was currently lying on his back, his eyes half closed. His body was wracked by shivering caused jointly by weakness and hunger. His gaze was unfocused as he slowly turned his head as far as he was able to see who'd come to relieve him from his torture, but his entire body went tight with grief and despair as he realized who had come. Sherlock was vibrating with so much rage Mycroft was concerned he might become violent, his desire to harm those who had harmed his mate overwhelming his logical mind. He moved closer to his brother placing a hand gently on his shoulder to try and calm him, though in honesty his own rage was not much better controlled. John was utterly broken and used. They watched as he resigned himself to his fate and saw the exact moment his body went lax as the adrenaline finally cut out. The weakness of his aura and the fluttering of his breath caused Sherlock to soften and he darted forward using his one free hand to rip away the ropes and bonds, ignoring how they cut him. He pulled John into his lap on the floor, cradling and rocking him. Mycroft watched in somewhat stern hesitation as Sherlock ignored everything else in the room except his injured mate and relaxed enough to return his attention to the offending vampires.

                                "They are yours?" Mycroft asked with disdain.

                                "They _were_ mine. Fledglings created from my family. This one is my grandson, she is some riffraff that seemed to show potential. I now see that was a misguided belief." Sebastian's jaw was tight and his rage had not calmed in the slightest. Every soft whimper that the mender issued forth made something twitch in the man's face.

                                "Milord," Mary started to speak. "You do not know..."

                                "SILENCE!" He backhanded her, growling. "You will answer every question asked of you, you will not move, and you may rest assured you will pay for this." His voice was so low and dark, even Mycroft was somewhat unnerved by it.

                                "Y-Yes milord." They both muttered slightly monotone.

                                "Mycroft, you may interrogate them as you wish, however I suggest we do so quickly." Sebastian stepped back, his eyes moving to where Sherlock held John.

                                " _My John_ ," Sherlock whispered as he continued to rock him back and forth. "Please, hush your tears." John was scrambling and sobbing, trying to get away from him. Trying to push his mate away and scramble away from all of them. "Please, here..." Sherlock placed the necklace back around John's neck, ensuring it was tightly fastened. "Please calm yourself, you have been through so much... Let me care for you."

                                "Do not touch me." John forced out, shivering and sobbing, but Sherlock held him tightly. John was weak, his body faltering from injury and exhaustion. Sherlock cooed softly, gently touching his cheek.

                                "You are my mate, I should be the one to hold you now and I shall continue to do so." He countered.

                                "I have been tainted..." John whimpered.

                                "Never, my love. Never." Sherlock promised and he bit down on his own wrist, offering it to John. John fought, trying to pull away however the hunger inside him was overwhelming. He began to suckle on the proffered wrist much the way a babe might suckle its' mother, settling down as the blood lulled him into comfort and a half sleep. Sherlock's attention never faltered from his love, still cradling him and rocking him gently.

                                "How long have you had John here?" Mycroft demanded swiftly, swinging his cane.

                                "Three days." Mary replied softly, her eyes glassed over.

                                "Where did you find him?" Sebastian cut in, growling.

                                "J..." The younger Sebastian began but shivered and fell silent. He tried to speak again but found himself unable to.

                                "In the drawing room, begging to be used like a whore by our Master." Mary spat out.

                Mycroft tensed his rage sweeping through him and a dark voice whispering in his ear to end this woman for daring to touch his fledgling. He held himself, knowing the violence of the act would harm John's recovery from the ordeal. Mycroft made them recite every single thing they had done to John, pacing back and forth as he did. Moran remained tense beside him, his eyes flashing with menace as each new evil was revealed. However when they explained Moriarty's part in the game all three of the men were only stilled in their murderous rage when John let out a soft, sobbing whimper. Mycroft continued his interrogation for a long while until he was satisfied . He then turned to Moran.

                                "Thank you for facilitating this interrogation. I have finished with these vile creatures and shall leave this place. Do what you will with them however if they ever darken the threshold to my manor I will not hesitate to destroy them." He promised in a vicious voice.

                                "You shall have no concern that they shall ever come near your manor. If I am successful they will never come anywhere near any of you again. I shall also see to James. Sherlock, guard him." Sebastian yanked Mary and the younger Sebastian up by the hair, shoving them out the door and barking orders at them. The silence that fell as they moved towards the house was heavy and thick, punctuated by tiny sounds from the mender.

                Mycroft helped Sherlock wrap John in their jackets, doing the best they could to cover him and protect him. He spent several minutes situating the mender firmly in Sherlock's arms before the brothers and George began their journey back home, both Mycroft and George alert for danger. They heard shouting from the house, including Sebastian and Elizabeth but they ignored it in favor of getting John home safe. When they arrived at their manor George was dismissed to secure the perimeter of the house and Mycroft and Sherlock took John down to the room they'd used for his rebirthing. Anthea was waiting with clothing and bloodwine. Mycroft gave her barked instructions and she left, leaving only the three Holmes men behind. Mycroft watched Sherlock and John for a long moment before deciding their first task would be cleaning the mender up. He led the way into the bathroom, ensuring the bath was warm before taking the mender gently from his brother. Sherlock got in the tub and Mycroft lowered John down into his arms before following down into the tub. John stirred and began to wake, tears coming anew.

                                "Please let me go." He pleaded, sobbing as he tried to push away from Sherlock. His arms still weak and shaking.

                                "My love, please..." Sherlock whispered softly, cupping his cheek. "I know you believe that you have somehow been demeaned by this experience however you must understand neither of us think any less of you. You were abused and tortured and we want simply to care for you. We expect nothing in return." He promised as  John collapsed against him, sobs wracking his body.

                The brother's exchanged dark, pained looks as the mender shivered and sobbed, letting him be until he finally started hiccupping and the coughing sobs began to subside. Mycroft gently ran his fingers through John's hair before cupping water and tipping it over the matted mess. He lathered up some of his soap and gently massaged his fingers through it, trying both to clean and soothe the weakened and violated man. Sherlock spoke softly, murmuring sweet words of comfort and keeping John pressed close to his own body as his brother worked, both of them allowing the tenderness to overcome their anger. John's eyes fluttered closed and he held tightly to Sherlock, as if somehow being pressed firmly against his mate's body would make the darkness stay away. Once his hair was clean Sherlock shifted him to Mycroft's arms, waiting until he was sufficiently settled and cuddled against his brother before he began to gently wash him, taking care to go slowly when he approached any area that was overly sensitive or abused. He stopped whenever John began to shake or cry, giving John all the time he needed to adjust to such loving touch over such rough areas. The tears came and went but neither brother shied away from them, instead choosing to do their best to keep the mender grounded as they gently removed all the outward signs of the trauma he'd experienced. Once they were finished cleaning him they took turns washing themselves while the other kept John nuzzled against their chest and murmured sweet words to him. The contact seemed to soothe the mender but both brother knew that could shift at any moment and did their best to be vigilant to any shift in his expression. Once their bathing was completed Sherlock got out first, taking John from Mycroft and helping him dry off before wrapping him in his elegant dressing gown. All the while maintaining contact with him to keep him focused and grounded. Sherlock ran his fingers through John's hair, still murmuring quietly while Mycroft dried off quickly so he could support John while Sherlock dried off. They both dressed in their own dressing gowns, so they all were completely clothed and they gently guided him back out to the large bed.

                                "John, my love," Sherlock whispered, sitting him down on the bed. "Do you wish to be alone?" Sherlock knelt before him, but did not touch him. John met his gaze very briefly, surprised to find only love and acceptance where he expected anger and distrust.

                                "I... I do not know." He looked down, his eyes red and filled with yet more tears.

                                "There is no correct or incorrect way to feel right now, our mender. If you wish to be alone or if you wish us to remain close either is natural and acceptable." Mycroft offered, keeping a bit of distance but offering warmth and comfort in his words and actions. "If you wish us to remain near you we are able and willing. If you wish us to let you rest alone, we shall. Whatever you need from us is what you shall get."

                                "Anything at all my love. So long as your safety is ensured." Sherlock promised, his voice was so genuine and so soft it made John shake.

                                "I am so sorry..." John began, shaking with renewed sobs and they both gently put their hands on his shoulders. Sherlock wanted badly to pull John into his arms and have Mycroft surround him from the other side as they held him close, however he did not want to crowd the wounded man in his arms.

                                "It is not your fault, my little mender." Mycroft's voice was gentle as he tentatively sank down next to John careful for any move he might make to flinch away. "Moriarty did this to you and he ordered his followers to carry it through. You could not have known your necklace came off."

                                "You have worn it every day for the whole of your life, the very idea it could come off was impossible." Sherlock wanted to press kisses all over him, to cuddle him, and swaddle him in warmth and love, but he knew from watching others go through this, that touch might be the last thing John wanted. He was surprised when John leaned forward and curled against him. He wrapped his arms gently around his husband and held him.

                                "If you wish to find another mate..." He started but Sherlock gently pressed his finger to his lips.

                                "You are my mate." He smiled at his brother, "You are _our_ mate." He gently rubbed John's back. John pulled his head up to look at Mycroft, disbelief in his eyes.

                                "It is true. You have already known that I love you just as my brother does. Nothing of that has changed. You are our mate. His husband, my fledgling, our lover." Mycroft promised.

                                "Even after..." John whispered, his voice cracking.

                                "Of course, love." Sherlock promised.

                                "Without a doubt." Mycroft added.

                Several tentative weeks passed slowly. Some days John slept peacefully curled between his lovers, accepting soft words and comfort when he woke from a nightmare. Others he found touch too overwhelming and the brothers slept curled together on a bed nearby. John could not say he was displeased with the closeness brewing between the brothers and he was sure on at least one occasion they had indulged in their physical needs when John informed them he was not yet ready to join them. He'd lay there quietly in his bed, unable to sleep, and listened to the soft whispered and breathless moans as the pair explored each other. Both of them whispering deeply hidden sentiments before they crashed over and came apart. John wanted to be a part of their lovemaking again, yet every time he tried his body reminded him of one of the horrors he'd lived through. It was only after several days of heart-wrenching starts and stops that he was able to begin kissing them again. Though he still melted when either of them gave him a kiss so gentle, that showed him he was so treasured, that it made him weep for his luck. Over a month passed before Mycroft felt John was stable enough to begin spending time on his own again, though Sherlock rarely left his side, so Mycroft took advantage of a quiet moment to send a request to Sebastian demanding the outcome of his investigations and his coven's ruling before writing a letter to the Duke requesting his opinion on the matter as well. He'd just finished the second letter when a soft knock echoed through his study and Anthea entered.

                                "I have tried to dissuade her, however Lady Elizabeth Moriarty requests an audience with our John." Mycroft put his fingers together in front of his chin for a moment, sighing. He spared a pleasant thought for the coven's new habit of referring to the mender as 'our John' before focusing on the task at hand.

                                "How does her mind seem to stand?" He stood after a period of silence and moved towards the door.

                                "I am not certain, however I do not believe it fares in our John's favor." Anthea followed him as Mycroft moved to the room below.

                The scene they found made Mycroft want to turn away Elizabeth, so he paused for a moment to enjoy the scene. Sherlock was lying, fully clothed, in bed with John nestled against his chest. John was looking up at him, his eyes half lidded in comfort as they whispered softly back and forth. Whatever words Sherlock was saying were soothing the mender who snuggled in closer. Mycroft enjoyed the sincere and earnest smile that bloomed on his brother's face as John sought out physical comfort for the first time since his ordeal and sighed that he must interrupt them.

                                "I am loath to interrupt however..." Mycroft began, but Sherlock cut him off.

                                "Has something happened?" Sherlock demanded, gently tightening his arms around John protectively.

                                "Lady Elizabeth has come to call on us. She wishes to see her cousin so I have come to see if _he_ wishes to see _he_ r." John tensed, his entire body going rigid and he clutched Sherlock's shirt in his hand. Today had been the first day he'd woken without tears, the first day he felt he might actually want to cuddle close with Sherlock and press kisses over his mouth and neck, but now...  

                                "I believe the choice is not mine to make if I am honest. I have yet to speak with her since this entire incident began and I promised to be her physician." John said softly, as he stood and dressed. "However perhaps you two could be convinced to accompany me?"

                                "I would not leave your side for a moment." Sherlock promised, standing and remaining close to John.

                                "Nor I. Least of all with a Moriarty present." Mycroft's scowl was not hidden.

                                "I am glad to know that." John smiled a bit and took Sherlock's hand in his own as they walked out of the room.

                Anthea led the three men to the dining room where Elizabeth sat conversing softly with her servant. She was sitting on a couch, her pregnancy showing slightly and her eyes wide as she heard the footsteps approaching. John took a hesitant step forward as she turned her attention to him however Sherlock and Mycroft were directly on his heels. John scanned Elizabeth's face for a sign of what lay ahead and was not relieved by what he saw. She stood when they entered the room fully and scanned John cautiously before he spoke.

                                "Hello cousin." He forced out timidly.

                                "Oh John, I hope I find you well?" She asked softly, walking over to take his hand. She looked him over a sadness lingering in her eyes. She seemed to be searching for something in his features.

                                "As well as may be expected considering the events that transpired." He replied defensively. Something in her eyes worried him, Sherlock's hand gently slipped over the small of his back and he felt reassured by the simple contact. "Why have you come to call Elizabeth?" He kept his voice even, though it was like fighting a war to do so.

                                "There are many reasons, cousin." She said stiffly, stepping back slightly. "The most important was that I wished to look in on you and see how you were. James informed me that you were quite extensively harmed by the actions of those he counted as friends and had no news to report to me on your recovery. As I understand it several inquires he made regarding your wellbeing have gone unanswered. I also came to inquire as to why you have not sent any request to know the state of my beloved's health or my own, as you are not the only one to have suffered at the hands of the younger Lord Moran and his ghastly accomplice. My James has been utterly beside himself since the incident and you my cousin have shared no kind word with him, though it was you who tried to seduce him." John's brow furrowed, Sherlock and Mycroft both tensed angrily, and Elizabeth looked waspish.

                                "I did not attempt to seduce your husband, Elizabeth. I had no intention of that in the least." John began but she cut him off.

                                "I _forgive_ you, John. I know you were under the effects of the poisoned wine however I witnessed you under their effects previously and you were quite able to restrain yourself. James has informed me of every detail of what transpired and the way you threw yourself on him was not in accord with your previous behaviors." John stepped back just a fraction, finding comfort in the feel of the two bodies behind him.

                                "Elizabeth I did not seduce your husband. He poisoned me and attempted to extract his revenge from my body for faults of his own." He kept his voice firm, using the feel of Mycroft's hand on his shoulder and Sherlock's on his back as reassurance.

                                "You have no cause to lie, John. I have forgiven you." She urged him.

                                "Elizabeth, you are not welcome in our home. I suggest you contact the apothecary to and request the name for a physician nearby. I will not treat you. I wish James a quick recovery and ask you see yourself out." He turned and strode from the room as strongly as he was able.

                Elizabeth huffed in anger and turned to her servant, barking orders and storming out of the house. The two brothers followed John and once they were sure Elizabeth was gone, they enfolded him in an embrace, his head on Mycroft's chest, and held him as he sobbed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tudor England is coming to a close, likely with the next chapter. Then we head towards Victorian England.


	7. Mending Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lady Elizabeth's words cut John to the core causing him to retreat into himself. Sherlock is going insane with the distance and cannot bear it a moment longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So every time I say I think we're headed out of Tudor England the boys bring me another plot bunny. Clever bastards.
> 
> This chapter was inspired by a comment left for me on the last chapter. It's an angsty/fluffy chapter that needed to happen. We have a few things to wrap up (that I know of) before we head on to the next bit so looks like Tudor England is here to stay for a bit longer.
> 
> This chapter is a bit shorter (I'm sorry!) and I am sorry for the delay in getting it out to you. The next chapter will be back up to the usual length and we'll see where we are when it's done!

                Anthea stood at the end of the hall, out of sight, watching the scene before her. A disheveled Sherlock stood on the outside of the library, pounding on the door, frustration clear in his voice and his actions. She sighed, this was the hundredth time she'd witnessed this same situation occur and she could tell how it wore down both the mender and his mate each time.

                                "Let me in!" Sherlock demanded, his voice echoing off the walls of the hallway as he shouted. His voice shook with exhaustion and emotion but he remained firm.

                                "No!" John shouted from the other side of the door, his voice hoarse and filled with pain. "I am not going to let you in here, Sherlock!"

                                "John please. Please my love," He pressed his forehead to the door. "You are in pain. I can feel it!" He pleaded, pressing himself flat against the door. "Please my John."

                                "No Sherlock, go away. I am not so bad as that. I am able to withstand the small amount of pain I am in. Please just go away." He pleaded, sobbing as he sank down onto the floor.

                Sherlock sank down so he was sitting with his back to the door, tears in his eyes as he let his head fall back with a loud thump against the door. It had been almost two months since Lady Elizabeth's visit and her carefully programmed words had ruined the shaking foundation the Holmes men had put together on shaking bricks to heal John. Since then John returned to his own bedroom and kept himself more often than not locked up in the library alone. He refused to admit Sherlock no matter how hard Sherlock pleaded, a fact that seemed, at least to Sherlock, that John no longer wished to be his mate. Sherlock knew logically that John was trying to make his way through the darkness inside his heart and mind, that he was being affected still by the power of the herb, and that he was resorting to the darkness of ill opinions put on him in childhood - but the pain of rejection still stung strong. John refused to allow Sherlock to bestow any comfort upon him, even the simple comfort of his presence in the same room and it left Sherlock aching inside. Anthea tensed as Sherlock put his head on his knees and began to cry in frustration. She turned on her heel and headed towards Mycroft's study.

                Anthea had been the only member of the coven family to gain admittance to the rooms where John kept himself locked away. She'd approached him during the day a week or so after Elizabeth's visit and explained that in her mortal life she had experienced a torment similar to what was done to him. Something the mender seemed to find solace in. However any entreaty she made on behalf of the brothers went either ignored or was dismissed. She knocked softly before entering Mycroft's study, pausing a moment to survey him. He had, for the most part, weathered this distance better than his brother though the strain was evident in the darkness of his eyes and the tightness of his features. Sherlock had not come to Mycroft for assistance or comfort since Elizabeth's strike and Anthea knew that was a blow to Mycroft's heart as well, however well he tried to hide it.

                                "He is at the door again?" Mycroft asked her softly as she fully entered the study and sighed when she nodded. He stood and walked towards her.

                                "Yes and our John still refuses him entrance, even now when he is suffering the most." She sighed, coming to rest beside him. "I believe he will not weather this distance much longer."

                                "John has not spoken to you of the reason for his denials?" His voice betrayed his concern. His brother had asked George to bring his trunks in from their storage house. Which meant his brother was planning something. Sherlock had never before been in a position such as this and Mycroft knew it was breaking his heart.

                                "He has not spoke a word directly no, however it is clear to me that he does not listen to the words Sherlock says and instead believes due to his own darkness that Sherlock only wants to help because he desires the physical expression of their love. I have informed him many times that Sherlock has not taken any physical relief from anyone since this ordeal began and Sherlock assures him both through his entreaties to John and those made to me to take to John that he wishes for no more than to be near his mate." She sank down onto the couch, looking up at him.

                                "Sherlock's mood is darkening quickly, if we do not act soon we shall lose them both to this darkness. Sherlock has never been one for tenderness and yet here he endeavors to bestow it on our mender and the mender continues to allow the darkness inside his mind to betray his heart. We must find a way to ensure John hears Sherlock's own words spoken in confidence to someone else." He paced a bit as he thought, his eyes falling on his balcony. "Ah, you shall bring John out of the library tomorrow afternoon around dusk. Tell him what you must to gain his acceptance however ensure you and he are on the terrace below my balcony before the sunsets. Sherlock has some things to discuss with me and I shall inform him he may approach me about them at that time."

                                "Thus allowing our John to hear Sherlock speaking to you without knowledge he is nearby." Anthea nodded. "I shall do as you ask." She stood and retreated from the room.

                That afternoon Anthea made her way to the library only to find John exiting the room on his way to feed. He cautiously looked around to ensure Sherlock was not in the hallway, smiling just a bit when he saw Anthea. She motioned for him to follow her and lead him outside to the terrace.

                                "Let us sit outside. I have had some blood prepared." She motioned to the table.

                                "It would be welcome to take in some fresh air." John sighed softly, sinking down into a chair. He sipped the blood however his entire body tensed as the sound of the doors opening from Mycroft's study echoed in the quiet of the falling twilight. He moved to retreat to the library but found himself pausing as a weight of sadness he knew was not his own settled into his chest. He dropped back down into his chair just as Sherlock's voice echoed through the silence.               

                                "Thank you for seeing me." Sherlock said quietly, looking at his hands.

                                "It was a simple matter once I realized you truly wished to speak with me. You have avoided me for the last several weeks, brother mine. Have I done something to anger you?" Mycroft's tone was light, he knew the words would reach the intended ears well enough.

                                "Brother..." Sherlock began to protest, moving towards Mycroft as if to offer him some sort of comfort before freezing and looking down. His face was tight with pain.

                                "What troubles you so?" Mycroft asked quietly, taking Sherlock's hand as they stood at the edge of the balcony. He tried to reassure his brother but found Sherlock only stiffened more.

                                "My mate... Well..." Sherlock looked away, pain flooding his features. "I suppose I shall not have the privilege of calling him that any longer." He sighed and below them John's heart began to ache. "My John has refused every word, every kindness, every gesture I have made towards him since Lady Elizabeth struck James' dagger into his heart. He seeks only the solace of the library and Anthea, refusing my heart at every turn and I simply cannot stand the torment for another moment." His voice betrayed how distraught he was and he pressed his forehead to the cool stone of the railing, using the moment to try to bolster himself. John's eyes slowly rose to stare at the concrete above him, the pain crossing his face plainly as he listened to the secret darkness of his mates heart.

                                "We both know John has suffered a tremendous insult to his person, brother mine. He may not be ready for anything more than his own company. We know Anthea has suffered such as well so she has experience where we do not. Do you not approve of their bond?" Mycroft's voice was soft, comforting, as he continued to rest close to Sherlock. His eyes taking in every minute detail about his brother's body language.

                                "I approve highly of it. It is right and proper that he should have the benefit of someone with her experience, though it pains me that either of them had to suffer such injustices. No, brother, it is not their bond that injures me so. Rather it is the lack of attention to ours that harms me." Sherlock looked up, over the grounds as he tried to keep back the tears that threatened.

                                "Ah, is that why you had George fetch your cases?" Mycroft's tone was serious and knowing. Confusion riddled John's features as he tried to understand what that meant.

                                "I..." A heavy sigh punctuated the air, hiding a repressed sob. "Mycroft, you know I have no experience in matters such as this. Feelings and tender things that come from the heart. It is doubly so when someone like my John is involved. I have tried every possibility that I can conceive of and yet he still refuses me. I love and cherish him more than any other I have ever known and yet it seems we have reached the end of our tender bond... And so soon." Sherlock shivered, the tears breaking free. John stood, debating between several actions however he was frozen in place when Sherlock began speaking again. "Our John needs all of the kindnesses and considerations we may afford him now in his tender healing. As he has no desire of my presence nor any kindness of mine and instead seems to believe that I shall inflict some injury or harm upon him I shall remove from his presence the source of that distress. I shall take myself away to the coven house in Germany and should your path bring you there when you change residences in the next fifty years perhaps then he shall be healed enough I may court him again." Sherlock's gaze fell back to his hands as his back shook. Mycroft sighed softly a mixture of emotions welling up in his own heart as he watched his brother attempt to navigate such treacherous terrain. Sherlock thought he was being noble, trying in vain to provide the best for John's tender feelings. His brother who had never before held a single consideration for the feelings of another and yet here was coming completely undone under the weight of what he assumed John's to be.

                                "Have you spoken to your mate regarding this issue?" He asked tentatively, not wanting to frighten or startle his already off balance brother.

                                "No, there has been no opportunity to do so as he refuses my presence. As the evidence suggests he no longer wishes to be my mate I shall simply do this and thus make it easier for him. He will not have to say the words that will injure my heart and I shall not have to endure the pain of those words. He will be free to pursue his healing and his bonds with the coven family as he sees fit, without fear that I shall be lurking around each corner waiting to pounce on him. While I hope that when your leadership does bring the coven to Germany I shall gain his affections again I have resolved myself fully to accept that I may never again share that treasured space within his heart." Sherlock's shoulders sagged and Mycroft felt his own face tighten in confused pain.

                                "My brother, you should..." Mycroft moved to hug him, to comfort him. Sherlock however pulled away and stalked partially across the balcony.

                                "I owe you a great apology brother mine. I understand we were just beginning to share in the blossoming of our own bond, however I cannot accept solace or physical comfort from you when my mate refuses even the slightest touch from me. This departure is abrupt and chaotic however if my John no longer wishes to be mine then I simply cannot bear to be here any longer." He nodded and continued towards the door, still unaware that below his feet John was shedding tears of his own as he began to understand what his distance had done to his love.

                                "You love him so much as that? Are you certain you do not simply miss the joys of his flesh?" Mycroft forced out, his tone a challenge though he was simply trying to give his brother anger to bolster himself with.

                                "I am quite sure, brother. I would give anything to simply sit near to him and whisper words of encouragement, however he denies me even that small joy. You may rest assured that if John never wanted to claim or be claimed, to hug or receive a kiss, or to even feel the caress of my hand against his cheek again for all of eternity I would bear that burden simply for the sake of cherishing him as he deserves. Elizabeth's cruelty has returned the insecurities and darkness of his childhood, those dark feelings his family inspired in him and no amount of reassurance from my lips benefits him. I would bleed myself dry to simply hold him in my arms again and promise him that he is worthy, special, and wonderful. I feel as if I am dying when I consider he shall never seek that comfort from me again. I cannot bear it. I cannot at all and that is why I must go." His voice was earnest, his eyes dark.

                                "Then I can do nothing to stop you and it injures me terribly to say so. A fortnight you say?" Mycroft inhaled deeply and sighed.

                                "Yes. I shall be in my chamber." Sherlock said quietly, stalking away. Mycroft sighed and leaned against the railing, his body trembling slightly with the feeling of his brother's pain and the many emotions running through the mender who had remained below and heard every word. "Brother mine..." He whispered softly, a tear falling. John was filled with dread. Sherlock was going to leave. He was going to remove himself from their home because he believed John no longer loved him. It was too much.

                John turned and rushed into the house towards Sherlock's chamber only to find the door locked. He knocked and knocked without answer, resolving himself that Sherlock must have taken to bed and he would speak with him at darkfall. He returned to the library, pacing the length of the floor by the windows as he absorbed the things Sherlock had said. He had not spoken with the knowledge John was near him, he was not attempting to impress the meaning of the words upon John's ears. He was speaking freely to  the one person he could. John felt like a fool. All this time his mate had been attempting to provide him comfort and yet he refused him at every turn. John stared out the window as the sliver of a moon rose, his attention catching when he saw something moving off to the side of his vision. He stole from his room to knock at Sherlock's door, opening it to see the trunks strewn about however Sherlock's main possessions were missing from the room. John turned on his heel and ran back towards the window seeing footprints in the freshly fallen snow outside. He followed their path with his eyes just catching the sight of Sherlock slipping into the trees that made up the forest between their estate and town. Sherlock had lied, he was leaving now. John turned and rushed out of the house, neglecting to grab his cloak in favor of not letting Sherlock gain too much ground.

                Sherlock was silent as he walked, the hood of his cloak wrapped over his raven curls as he tried not to let the emotion get the better of him as he traveled silently through the still night. He knew Mycroft had seen through his lie however he could not chance that Anthea was not lurking somewhere nearby. John should not know of his departure else he think he should stop Sherlock from leaving with false words. Sherlock's focus was almost entirely in his mind so he did not hear John behind him, though John felt several times in his haste to catch his mate. He finally was able to gain enough proximity he was able to grasp the back of Sherlock's cloak, causing Sherlock to shout in surprise. He spun, anger clear in his body as he assumed his brother had followed him, however his entire face changed when he saw it was John.

                                "Brother this is..." He paused several silent heartbeats passing before he spoke again. "J-John?" He asked timidly, as if doubting his own eyes.

                                "Sherlock..." John's voice cracked and he tugged tighter on the cloak as if trying to pull Sherlock back towards the estate.

                                "What are you doing here?" His voice cracked, betraying his heart.

                                "You told Mycroft a fortnight." John countered.

                                " How did you..." Sherlock shifted the bag on his shoulder, turning to look at John more fully.

                                "I was with Anthea on the terrace... Sherlock..." John tried to make the words come however they stuck in his throat like a weight. Sherlock looked down, his heart aching as he tried vainly to prepare himself for the words he'd hoped to avoid.

                                "You do not have to speak the words, I know how you feel." His voice was soft, full of pain as John tugged again on the cloak, making his hood fall. They stood there in silence for a long moment, snow gently falling around them and dotting their hair. John's grip tightened on the cloak and Sherlock felt something like hope crawl into his chest and begin to warm it.

                                "You do not know how I feel. I heard the words you spoke, Sherlock and you are wrong." John whispered, forcing Sherlock to meet his gaze. "I do not desire in any way to be anything other than your mate." Sherlock's eyes grew wide as John stepped a bit closer to him. "I have never wanted an end to our bond, I simply did not believe you could tolerate a sudden distance from me."

                                "John, I meant every word I ever spoke to you. I... It is like dying. I do not like this. This has been the worst experience of my life and the only person whom I could seek comfort from denied me." He forced the words out, trying to stop himself from clamping down on the normally restrained sentiment.

                                "As I denied myself my own." John conceded, looking down. "I apologize, my love. I did not realize how terribly this effected more than just myself. Please... Do not go." John shivered slightly as the cold began to affect him and Sherlock pulled John into an embrace. John sighed and nuzzled against his chest, enjoying the feel of protective arms surrounding him.

                                "I will stay if you will let me try to help you however you need." Sherlock promised.

                                "I will do my best." John's voice was soft as he let a few tears fall.

                                "You two can come out now." Sherlock sighed as he set his bag down and took his cloak off wrapping it around John. John looked around in surprise as George and Anthea stepped from the shadows. "How long did it take my brother to realize my plan?" He demanded.

                                "You were not even from the room, Lord Holmes." George smiled and took up Sherlock's bag.

                                "Anthea have you been following me?" John asked her quietly as he tightly wrapped the cloak around himself.

                                "Yes our John, I have."

                The group made it back to the house and Sherlock led John up to John's room. A fire glowing in the hearth as he stripped to cloak off John's shoulders. John pressed forward and began to undo the ties of Sherlock's shirt, drawing a confused expression from him. John simply smiled and pulled the shirt away, exposing Sherlock's long lean torso. He motioned for Sherlock to get comfortable on the bed before pulling his own shirt off and crawling up to join him. John shifted Sherlock this way and that until he had himself draped across Sherlock's lap and wrapped in his arms against his chest. He leaned his cheek down against the pale skin and sighed softly as a tear fell.

                                "I am terribly sorry." He whispered.

                                "Not as sorry as I am, _my_ John. If I had done as I should have you would have been able to resist Moriarty enough to break free of his hold. I have failed you tremendously by refusing to train you with your abilities. I have not been a very adept mate to you and it is because of that you have suffered this." Sherlock cupped his cheek, stroking his thumb across it.

                                "I had not asked for more training, which I should have done. You are always so busy in your mind, racing away with your thoughts as you try to see into the future. I am sorry I refused you and injured your heart so." He whispered, pressing a soft kiss to Sherlock's chest.

                                "Oh John, _my John_. You did not realize how much I care for you." Sherlock said softly, pain on his face. "Which implies I have not done well enough showing you." He sighed as he ran his hand up through John's hair. "I have never had a talent for expressing matters of the heart and things relating to love. Honestly I never thought there was need to do so, as no one ever garnered my interest, though many did try. It was not until you that anyone succeeded in stealing away my thoughts so readily that I can scarcely recall the moment my life was signed over to you. You are so much more than you allow yourself credit for. You have suffered and survived from the moment of your birth. Darkness has sought you to be its' companion and yet you have refused it, instead bringing your light to those who would revel in the darkness for lack of knowledge of what it is like to walk in the sun." John blushed and looked up into Sherlock's eyes, reading his emotion there as he inhaled the scent of his mate.

                                "I am nothing such as that." John whispered, slowly averting his gaze. Sherlock lifted his chin.

                                "You are all of that and so much more, my love." Sherlock wanted to kiss John, to press forward and cement his words in his loves mind with a tender union of their lips however he feared John's reaction. So he was rather caught off guard when John surged up and united their lips in a soft kiss before pulling back and blushing slightly.

                                "I have kept distant as my heart was swayed by Moriarty's words, spoken while I was under his control. After Elizabeth's visit my memory became clearer, my mind recalling details I should have been happy to forget. He ensured me you would leave me, that you would find me wanting after being tainted by his touch. I wrongly came to believe that you only wished to be with me as we were bonded and not that you still wished to keep me for my heart." John idly traced circles on Sherlock's chest, happy to feel safe in his arms.

                                "As I spoke when I found you, you are not tainted my love. I have no want of another save you. You are the only being in this world I wish to cherish." He enjoyed how John was relaxed, returning his hand to card through John's sandy blonde hair with a soft sigh.

                Sherlock was taken by surprise when John moved so he was beside Sherlock instead of in his lap, however he allowed the mender to guide his body down against the bed. John gently began kissing him, timidly at first and then slowly growing stronger as he found he could stomach the motions. John could not explain how the desperation rose in his chest to cherish his lover with physical expression. He'd felt the pull of their lust before and been chilled to the bone by it, however now it burned like a fire in his chest. It grew as Sherlock went pliant under John's hands, allowing John to direct their actions and the speed with which he undertook them without expectation or fear of judgment. Sherlock let John explore him, watching with curiosity as John let his thoughts come and go.

                                "My love, you are not required to do this." Sherlock protested softly, trying to ensure John understood.

                                "I desire to. I have not kept away from you due to diminished desire my love. I want to touch you, to taste you... I am simply unsure of what I am able to do."

                                "You are free to do as much or as little as you wish, _my John_. If you wish to stop simply do so." He promised as he closed his eyes and could not bite back a soft moan.

                Too long they had gone without touching one another and Sherlock could not stop the small sounds that came from him as John continued his explorations. His lips and fingers trailing over every inch of pale skin available to him, slowly and with the purpose of reacquainting himself with his husband. Sherlock's arousal grew and waned in alternating measures as John took his time exploring his love. He kept his eyes closed, sinking back more comfortably onto the pillows moaning John's name softly as John's tongue lathed attention over his slowly pebbling nipples. He dug his fingers into the bed, desperate to give John all the freedom he could afford while trying with all he had to retrain himself.

                                "You are still so beautiful," John whispered against his chest. He slowly kissed back up, claiming Sherlock's mouth again. Sherlock timidly slid a hand up into John's hair, sighing softly with pleasure when the mender did not retreat. When they finally broke for breath, John only a small space from Sherlock, they searched each others' eyes silently for a long moment.

                                "I have missed you with all my heart, John." Sherlock's words were full of his emotion even as his aura gently offered itself to John's again.

                                "As have I." John kissed him again before settling down against his chest, slowly allowing the weary exhaustion that had chased him for months claim him.

                Sherlock watched him sleep, forcing his arousal down and reminding himself that every stab of lust he fought earned him his place again within his menders heart. He carded his hands through John's hair, sighing softly as his mate curled closer to him instead of pulling away. He looked up as a soft knock sounded on the door and Mycroft entered. He stayed close to the door, noting the sleeping mender, and smiled. A smile which brightened when his brother returned it.

                                " _I am pleased to see this._ " Mycroft's voice was soft.

                                " _I know you initiated this moment and I appreciate it, though I am angry you forced me to spill my heart so easily without knowing John was present._ " Sherlock sighed.

                                " _As I would expect you to be, however it was required. Your previous entreaties to the mender were not well received and this allowed you the ability to speak your full truth without your fear of the consequences of his heart. I am pleased you are not leaving us as it pained me greatly to consider you might be far from me for so long._ "

                                " _I am gladdened to know my company benefits you. I..._ "

                                "Are you just going to stand there?" John asked softly, lifting his eyes from Sherlock's chest.

                                "I was not aware you were awake, little mender." Mycroft smiled as John smiled at him.

                                "I was sleeping rather peacefully until it felt as if my mind was invaded by a horde of angry bees. I have told you before that when you are communicating it affects me. You have come to see your handiwork and here it is." John's grin was wide but he moved to cuddle closer to Sherlock.

                                "And so it is. I shall leave you two to your moment, do not protest my little mender. It does not injure my heart to do so. You two have had precious little time together since this most recent ordeal began. We shall talk later on, you and I." Mycroft walked over and placed a gentle kiss on John's forehead and Sherlock's before sweeping from the room.

                                "Were you feigning sleep, my love?" Sherlock grinned looking down as John's face as he blushed.

                                "Your brother has been lurking in the hallway for some time, I decided it would be best to see him on his way than to make him stand there and listen as I continued to explore you." John resumed his soft kisses on Sherlock's neck, enjoying how the moans pried themselves from his lips and he arched into the contact. "I am not ready to be under the care of both the Holmes brothers, as of yet..." John purred against his skin. "However I _will_ watch you two pleasure each other sometime very soon." He promised darkly and Sherlock flushed.

                                "It pleases you that I have formed some bond with him though he is my brother?" He asked breathlessly as John's kisses again trailed down his chest.

                                "Oh yes. You two have been hiding lust for each other for much longer than I have been privileged to see it. I was glad to know you had become so comfortable with your own body to explore his." John promised as he slowly began to tug down Sherlock's trousers.

                                "J-John..." He protested softly, concern filling his eyes.

                                "I will stop when I need to. I promise." John continued his work trailing kisses down Sherlock's legs and then back up.

                Sherlock's eyes had gone silver as they watched John huff warm breath across his stirring erection. He moaned loudly before shouting as John's fingers began to deftly explore the twitching member as if he'd never seen it before. Lips and tongue followed fingers before John took the whole of Sherlock in his mouth, humming with contentment as Sherlock again shouted and forced himself not to buck into John's mouth. John moaned again, he felt powerful. The feel of his mate, a man like Sherlock Holmes, restraining himself to prove his heart made John alternate between weeping with joy and sheer thrill. For that moment he felt like himself again and all he desired was to see his mate come apart under his work. To see that he could make take Sherlock apart. It was selfish and dark but John needed it and he found that Sherlock made no effort to resist.

                                " _I want to see you come undone, Sherlock._ " John's voice was husky in Sherlock's mind, filling him to the brink. Their arousal swirling and humming in their bond until Sherlock could not focus on anything else.

                                "John!" He shouted, arching but finding his hips forced back down onto the bed by John's eager hands. John increased the pressure on those pale hips, digging his fingers in as his mouth and tongue worked eagerly over the shivering, burning flesh in his mouth. It was not much longer before Sherlock cried out, his release spilling into John's mouth and his body going utterly limp underneath him.

                                "Even now you trust me enough to have complete power over you." John whispered, swallowing down Sherlock's seed before kissing his way back up to snuggle against him again. "Even when my mind could have been tampered with."

                                "I know your heart, my love. You would not allow any such programming to remain." He forced out, his breath shaking as it left his chest. "I... You did not..."

                                "I know, however it gave me great pleasure to do so. Let it be like this for now, Sherlock. Stay here with me for a few days and let me explore you at my pace. Please." A plea Sherlock knew he was powerless to refuse even if he wanted to.

                                "Anything for you my love." He promised, trembling as he tried to wrap around John. "Anything."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always errors, comments, kudos, etc appreciated.


	8. A Study in Crimson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock solve their first case (without much effort) and John learns a deeply painful lesson about whom to trust. A lesson that just may break him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **THIS IS NOT AN EASY CHAPTER! TRIGGER WARNINGS APPLY**
> 
> Now that I have your attention - I hit writers block and life block with this chapter. I am so sorry it took so long to post, but we've hit the dark times now. There is a lot of blood and dark themes in this chapter. There is also mention of rape and non-con drug use. These aren't new to the story but I feel it is fair to warn you.
> 
> We are in the thick of some of the more angsty/feels/sad making portions but I don't write unhappy endings. It's just not something I do. 
> 
> I'm sorry this chapter is shorter than normal, but I had to get something out to you lovelies!
> 
> Bear with me as we move forward here, I have most of the next few chapters outlined (and we will meet some other friends in the next few chapters) I just have to get the time to sit down and write them.
> 
> Thank you, thank you, thank you for sticking with me this far!

               A soft groan escaped Sherlock's lips as he furrowed his brow and slowly began to come awake. Soft, fluttering kisses were trailing over his body accompanied by the soft moans of his mate. John had been at this for some time, enjoying how long it took to draw Sherlock from his slumber. His kisses continued to trail over Sherlock's chest, hips, legs, and back up until he was poised just above his love. As Sherlock slowly opened his eyes John leaned down and claimed his mouth in a hard, desperate kiss that was utterly full of passion. Sherlock groaned deeply which became a gasp of surprise when John's nails dug into his chest.

                                "J-John..." Sherlock panted, his chest heaving.

                                "Good evening my love." John purred against his mouth, not pulling away. "I want you." He whispered, claiming Sherlock's mouth in another feverish kiss. "I want to be inside you."

                                "Love you... You do not..." He protested, trembling hard as John's finger slipped down and began to tease his quivering opening. "John!"

                                "For two days I have tasted, touched, and explored you anew. I am ready now Sherlock. I am ready for more. I want it. I _need_ it. Please let me claim you." John's voice was soft, a breathless growl as he claimed Sherlock's mouth again. Sherlock's mind felt like it was liquid, the desire that had been coiling away inside his chest for months reigniting as if his entire being was being consumed in the flames.

                                "Anything for you. Anything at all. John!" He arched as John pressed his already slicked finger inside, unable to stop the way his entire body became electrified.

                                "Look at you." John growled. "My love... My mate..." He whispered trailing kisses and soft bites over Sherlock's neck. His fangs dragging over the vein. Sherlock moaned loudly and his eyes fluttered closed. "Yes Sherlock, give in to the pleasure. Let me see you unmade." John ordered, his voice thick with his lust. Their bond swirling with their arousal so much so that Sherlock wasn't sure he was encased by his physical body any longer.

                                "John, oh God..." He arched as John slowly slipped another finger inside, scissoring them and teasing his mate open. Sherlock could tell something about this was different, the way John's aura felt was stronger than it had been previously. It was as if his aura was worming its' way through his body and stoking the flames higher.

                                "I have been waiting to show you this." John whispered, his eyes dark. "To show you that I have been studying and training my powers on my own. I was not idle while I was distant." Sherlock felt the spike of lust that shot through him as the sensations shifted and changed. John's aura swirling around and in him as the sensation of hands trembled over his body. All he could do was moan John's name in surprise. "I found the journal you keep hidden away within the library. The one you wrote while you were being trained by your mother. I also found the books you gathered during that time, those old dusty tomes that you had forgotten. I wanted to show you I could be strong for you. That I would one day be able to save you as you have me." His voice was soft but filled with lust as he shifted and pressed himself against Sherlock.

                                "John! Oh love! I had... I had forgotten those were even still around. I had no idea you had found them but... It explains much. You are so strong." Sherlock muttered, arching as John slowly pressed forward. His hands digging into John's shoulders as he moaned. "I... I have not..." He protested, sure that he had in no way been John's savior.

                                "You have." John whispered into his ear as he fully seated himself inside his love. "You came to find me. You saved me from myself, my family, from Moriarty... From death." He nibbled on Sherlock's neck, nipping at the pulse point and groaning as Sherlock clenched on him. He snapped his hips back and then rolled them forward setting a slow but feverish pace.

                Their words fell away, replaced only by sounds as they renewed their bond on every level. John felt the shiver of power that ran through him as Sherlock gave control of the moment to John yet again. As Sherlock gave himself over completely to John's care and did not seek to stop or change anything he did. John felt incredible. He had forgotten how powerful their lovemaking was and now that he had given in to the feelings again he never wanted to stop. The dark thoughts that he feared would ruin a moment such as this stayed distant and all he could see was his lover, his mate, his soul. He tormented Sherlock for hours with a slow, steady pace that left them both trembling and desperate for release. Their mouths hardly breaking apart save for breath as their bodies continued to move together building them towards a shattering release. When John finally sped up his movements he did so only by a marginal amount and it took a long time before both of them shouted and finally crested the wave they had been chasing for so long. Midnight had come and gone and the twilight of dawn was beginning to creep into the world around them as John collapsed against his love. They held each other with trembling arms, almost clinging to one another as the world fell away and they sank into the warmth of dark slumber together.

                                "Why have you come?" Mycroft asked softly, looking across his desk at Sebastian Moran.

                                "I had heard rumors that our mender was not recovering well. I investigated to find out what might have undone the progress it seemed you and your brother were making with him and I learned from Elizabeth the details of her previous visit, which I found quite distressing. As I had yet to hear from either of you regarding his progress I came with the hopes of speaking with the little mender." Moran sighed, his eyes hard.

                                "He is rather occupied at the moment and I am quite loath to disturb him. I do appreciate your concern however and I am quite sure he would offer you the same compliment were he available. I am rather curious however as you have yet to respond to my several entreaties seeking satisfaction that those who brought this darkness to him have been properly handled." Mycroft propped his elbows on the desk, crossing his fingers under his chin. He kept his eyes soft but his guard was raised.

                                "The Tribunal sentenced my grandson to sleep for ten years without blood and Mary was exiled from the coven. All her ties to us were stripped and her status as a Solvanaar were revoked. Her necklace was destroyed. I have pressed for my grandson to meet the same fate however the Tribunal is loath to do so due to my daughter's pleas." Moran sat back, his eyes hard.

                                "That is somewhat satisfactory I suppose. What of James Moriarty?"

                                "He has continued to portray himself as a second victim. He denies any involvement in John's rough treatment whatsoever and I am sad to report that many in my coven still believe him to be honorable. With Elizabeth on his side it was inevitable that he would be cleared. In truth they are lauding him for conceiving a child with her."

                                "Be that as it may they are no longer welcome in my home for any reason and should they choose to darken my doorstep their safety is not my concern." Mycroft growled.

                                "That is as I expected.” Moran looked around, thoughtfully. However Mycroft detected something a bit worrying in his gaze. “John is occupied you say? So there is no chance I may speak with him at all?" Moran asked, sighing softly. "I had wished to ask him to research something for me that I believe to be of vital importance."

                                "No there is no way that you may speak with him at this moment. I simply refuse to disturb him in his current pursuits. He and my brother have spent precious little time together in the last few months and I believe they are renewing their bond with one another.” Mycroft’s words were hard, directed with unspoken meaning. Moran took the hint and his eyes darkened.

                                "Very well, I shall return later and attempt to speak with him" Moran stood and left. Mycroft stared after him for a long time, a muscle twitching in his jaw. There was danger under his mask and he was sure it was somehow related to the mender.

                Sherlock and John woke sometime later in the afternoon when a soft knock echoed through the room. Sherlock pried himself up, wrapping his dressing gown around himself before opening the door to find Mycroft. Mycroft offered him some drawn blood and stepped into the room, trying to ignore the heady smell of the pairs' arousal as he did. He found it moved easily through his body, exciting his own passion despite his efforts to ignore it. John looked up at him from where he was still snuggled in the bed with a smile that sent shivers through his body and he returned it as best he could, sinking down on the couch and watching them as they drank the blood he had brought them.

                                "I had received word the two of you had yet to leave the confines of this room for several days. I wanted to ensure you had fed." He offered with a smile.

                                "As always taking care of us." Sherlock smirked, teasing. He turned to look at John with a very intent glance, something unspoken passing between them.

                                “And you have come yourself to deliver it.” John purred softly, sitting up and letting his eyes remain on his Sire. “Are you quite certain you had no ulterior motive in coming to us?” His tone was teasing and yet flirting as he drank down a large glass of blood, enjoying how Mycroft’s eyes seemed transfixed on how the motion caused his throat to move. “I owe you an apology, Mycroft.” He said softly as he slipped out of the bed and moved to sit next to his Sire on the couch. He smiled as their gazes met. “My distance was as painful to you as it was to Sherlock and I am quite certain you suffered doubly so as it kept not only me but Sherlock as well out of your reach for a time. I had no intentions of causing such a rift between any of us and I am deeply sorry it occurred.” Mycroft smiled as he placed his hand over John’s, which widened when the mender did not pull away.

                                "You are healing from a terrible ordeal _my little mender_ , I would not expect you to act as you always have." He looked up when Sherlock sat down on his other side, raising an eyebrow. “I have missed you both terribly however I have understood the distance.” He watched as Sherlock looked to John, seemingly asking for permission for something. “I feel I have missed a discussion of an important nature between the two of you.” He smirked, feeling how the air in the room shifted.

                                “We both had been hoping you would come to us soon.” John whispered, his hand slowly trailing up Mycroft’s arm to find his cheek. He stroked his thumb over Mycroft’s cheek gently before pulling him down into a long slow kiss. “You deserve to be cherished as much as either Sherlock or I do.” Their mouths met again and a slow burning fire began to build inside each of the men. Sherlock loved watching how the two of his lovers so easily embraced each other, moaning softly when Mycroft eagerly began taking dominance over the mender. Mycroft began to place hot kisses over John’s throat, groaning as he moaned with desire. “I… I am not up to the task of enduring both of your passions yet, however I wish to see you two share in your desire.” John panted as Mycroft continued to lick, nip, and kiss his neck. “I want to see you share the bond I have forced you to neglect.” Mycroft claimed John’s mouth again, groaning as their hips rocked together hard.

                                “And… And what say you, brother?” Mycroft groaned, pulling his mouth and body away from John to survey his brother.

                                "I have wanted to come to you for months, brother. I have desired to explore our bond so much more than we have previously been allowed and yet I could not allow myself to enjoy your flesh when I could not worship that of my mate." He whispered. Mycroft watched as Sherlock slowly moved, leaning forward and kissing him heatedly.

                Mycroft was caught off guard, a soft moan escaping him as he returned the kiss with as much passion as he could. His heart fluttered in his chest as he pushed closer to Sherlock, claiming his mouth with more intensity than they’d begun with. Sherlock groaned in surprise as Mycroft fisted those raven locks in his hand and pulled Sherlock into his lap. Their mouths moving heatedly together. Sherlock wrapped his arms around Mycroft, drawing their bodies more tightly together and bringing his hand to his brother’s hair, gripping tightly. John groaned deeply from beside them, his entire attention focused on their movements. He had intended to call Mycroft to them in a few days, however he was pleased that he’d arrived on his own. Watching the two of them succumb to the passion, love, and tenderness they normally kept shadowed away was one of the most beautiful things he had ever witnessed. Sherlock slowly broke the kiss, both of them panting as they pulled back to search each other’s eyes. Mycroft kept his hands in Sherlock’s hair as they caught their breath, his gaze soft as he took in every detail betrayed on the others face. He pulled Sherlock back to him for another deep, soul searing kiss. Their mouths continuing together for what seemed like an age before they pulled apart and turned to look at John as he groaned again. John smiled warmly at them and nodded, giving them permission to proceed as they wished.

                                "It is wonderful to watch you two." He whispered, leaning forward and kissing both of them deeply in turn. "I wish to watch more." He asked softly.

                                "Sherlock?" Mycroft asked, his attention returning to the trembling form in his lap.

                                "Mycroft." Came the gruff reply before their mouths were together again. Mycroft stood, carrying Sherlock easily as he sat him down on the bed. Sherlock began to claw the shirt and trousers off of his brother as Mycroft yanked the dressing gown free. John was almost forgotten as the two brother’s desperately clawed at each other.

                Mycroft pushed Sherlock down onto the bed, following him as their mouths desperately continued to move together like either might perish if they broke apart. John groaned softly from his perch on the couch and enjoyed how that simple noise caused a tremor to run through both of the brothers. Mycroft's hands roved over his brother's form, desperate to touch him, to feel how Sherlock responded to every sensation. This drove Mycroft to madness, knowing that he could incite such desperate passion in his brother. To see how much his own desire was reflected in the actions they shared. For so many years he had doubted that his brother would ever find his way to enjoy the pleasure of simply being in a moment and allowing passion to rage through his mind and heart. A doubt which doubled when coupled with the thoughts that Mycroft had hidden away, those secret desires he was sure would never be allowed a turn in the light. The desire to be the one who made Sherlock come apart, to see how he sank into his body and trembled from the sensations caused by his brother’s hands. To see how Sherlock grew and adapted for all the ages of the world. He knew now that John was the key to all of this. To allowing both of them to find their true selves and embrace the truth that the laws and relationships of their first life were not as tightly binding now in this eternal life. Mycroft shouted as Sherlock slotted their bodies together, their erections brushing against one another hard. Mycroft arched up as sensation ran through him, Sherlock clawing hard into his arm. Both of them gasping and moaning loudly when they heard soft moans drifting over from where the mender was on the couch. They froze, turning to look at him and both groaning loudly as they realized he was stroking himself as he watched them. Sherlock pulled Mycroft down and rolled his hips harder into him as he kissed him again. Their bodies desperately moving together until all three of them shouted and released.

                Mycroft's legs trembled and he almost fell, forcing himself to crawl into the bed. He and Sherlock lay panting next to each other as they fought to catch their breath, looking up as John slotted in beside Sherlock and looked over the two of them. Mycroft let his gaze soften as John met it, their eyes locking as so many silent words passed between the two of them. After what seemed like hours Mycroft finally was able to move again. He stood, retrieving a cloth and some water which he used to clean himself and his brother off before crawling up to the head of the bed. Both brothers smiling in surprise when John pressed himself between them. He pulled Mycroft down and kissed him deeply, moaning softly into the kiss.

                                "That was tremendously beautiful." He whispered as they broke apart.

                                "That was hurried and unskilled." Mycroft protested, however Sherlock laughed.

                                "That was months without touch." He cuddled closer to John.

                                "Let us rest and see what manner of trouble we can get into when we wake." John smiled, he wasn't sure he would be able to go through with it, but the more he thought about it the more he desired to partake of their passion.

                A peace that had been long missed returned to the coven house as the next several weeks passed, though they passed without the coven seeing much of the three Holmes men. Anthea brought them blood several times, pleased to find them all together and smiles brightening their faces for the first time in many months. So things went until one morning as Anthea surveyed the house to ensure everything was in place before she took to her slumber a soft knock sounded at the front door. She opened it with surprise to find Lady Elizabeth Moriarty, clearly showing her pregnancy and leaning heavily on one of her female servants. She was very distressed and immediately grasped Anthea’s hands, sinking to her knees.

                                "Please Lady Anthea, I entreat you to move John to speak with me. I have wronged him greatly and I need to see him. Please." Anthea felt how the woman shook and helped her up, noting she now had a Solvanaar necklace around her neck.

                                "You are not welcome in this house Lady Moriarty." Anthea said as gently as she could.

                                "Do not call me that. Please, I am only Elizabeth. I must speak with him. I must, it is of urgent importance." She pleaded, still clinging to Anthea's hands tightly.

                                "My Lady, ease your heart before you cause yourself too much distress. Allow me to speak on your behalf." The servant at her side said softly, putting her hand on Elizabeth's back. "Lady Anthea, my mistress was blinded by her husbands' false words and has come to make amends. It is quite imperative that we speak with Lord John and we cannot leave here without doing so. Please beg of him on our behalf that we may speak with him." Anthea looked confused but the woman seemed to be telling the genuine truth so she motioned for Elizabeth to move into the next room and she went to find the men.

                                "John, you must not hold your hand like that." Sherlock chided gently.

                                "It is terribly difficult to hold it any other way." John protested.

                Anthea entered the study and moved to the balcony to find Sherlock and Mycroft instructing John on the use of swords. All three men turned to her at once and she could not hide the smile that the motion brought to her face. She bowed slightly before speaking.

                                "Our John, Lady Elizabeth is here to see you." She began and John made an angry noise. Anthea held up her hand. "Wait but a little before passing judgment on the situation. She is quite distressed and she and her servant have begged an audience with you. She took to her knees to plead for it in fact. She is wearing a necklace like yours which she did not previously have and she seems to be of her own mind instead of swayed by others as she was before. I would urge you to come down to her if you can be troubled to see what injures her heart so."

                                "A Solvanaar crest?" John's voice betrayed his interest and he set his sword down. He turned to ask the brothers to accompany him, only to find them both as his side as easily as if he had asked aloud.

                The quartet moved down to the drawing room and found Elizabeth wringing her hands in her seat. She looked greatly distressed, her eyes red from tears, and her breathing somewhat ragged. When John came into the room she rushed over to him and grabbed his hands, pressing her forehead to them in supplication. A motion which took John by surprise.

                                "My cousin, my beautiful cousin I beg you for your forgiveness. Please John, please take the knife from my heart that I so easily allowed to be placed there. How I must have injured you when last we spoke! How little I knew of the truth!" She began to shake with sobs and confusion lined John's face. He pulled her up and guided her to the couch, sinking down beside her.

                                "Be at ease Elizabeth. This will not do for your condition. Your words are inspiring however I worry I may not trust them. Tell me the story behind them?" John asked softly. Sherlock and Mycroft sank down in chairs across from them, their eyes roving over the pair as they talked. Sherlock was desperately protective and wanted to lash out at the woman even as John held her hands so gently.

                                "When last we spoke I was so very cruel to you without intention on my behalf of being so. I knew not the real truth of what had happened those dark days at my manor. I have since learned of what truly transpired and how I have so gravely injured the one I vowed never to harm. Lord Moran came to me a month ago and brought me the necklace I now wear, the one that is so similar to yours. He informed me that as James' wife it was a token of my place within his family and he had come to bestow the honor of it upon me, though he was disappointed James was not home to see him do so. James has been gone often these last few months to deal with some business of his own in France. Lord Moran told me the necklace would protect me and my child, he urged me to ensure I kept it on at all times, and that it was always close to my heart. When I put the necklace on I became rather ill and took to bed for a fortnight. During which I was plagued with dreams and memories of things I did not recall having transpired, situations in which James told me things that I did not remember him telling me, and memories of moments I witnessed that I did not feel as if I had been present for. One of those memories was from the night of the dinner where he intended to poison all of you and you, my beloved cousin took all of the torment onto yourself. Before the dinner he came to me and informed me that I was to react poorly when it was discovered you all had been poisoned, he explained every detail of how I was to respond and behave in a way that made it seem as if it were my own thought. That I should entreat you all to forgive him as one of our servants had informed him about the herb and he had been genuinely trying to make the evening more pleasant. Another memory that plagued me was of the day before my wedding when he apparently informed me I was to loosen your necklace without arousing your suspicion, where me mentioned to me that mortals can remove the shields and I was to provide him great assistance by doing this." She shook visibly as her sobs took her voice.

                                "My Lady has also come to understand that she, without intention of her own, participated in the injury you received during those dark days at our manor. It seems that Lord Moriarty forced her to believe it was necessary for your presence and also forced her to feign greater illness than she was experiencing in order to secure the promise from you that you would remain to inform him of the news of her pregnancy which he already suspected. She has unwittingly participated in these great injuries to you for months without her knowledge and it has greatly troubled her heart to learn of it. She had been poisoned in her own mind and haunted by the words she spoke to you last, so much so that she had been unable to eat or take rest without the assistance of herbs and my skills. She has been robbed of something precious within her own mind and she wishes your forgiveness.  She has also become quite afraid for her own life and that of her child." The servant finished softly as Elizabeth continued to sob, clutching John’s hands even tighter.

                                "Elizabeth," John began but Mycroft cut him off.

                                "You must understand that this is hard for us to believe, Lady Elizabeth.” He kept his voice as soft as he could as she looked up at him. Her eyes betraying fear that they would turn her away. “The words you spoke when last you visited this house harmed John more than I believe you currently comprehend. More than he would be willing to admit to you as he is gentler to your heart than I shall be. You undermined his entire recovery with the words you spoke to him last. You drove a knife in his heart where there should have been none. Due to the words you so easily cast out on your previous visit he took to a dark place in his own mind where he believed himself to be at fault for the dark things done to him. So while I appreciate that you do seem to have experienced a change of heart you must realize this is difficult for us to simply accept on your word alone." His gaze was firm as he settled back in his chair, watching Elizabeth closely. John however held her hand more tightly.

                                "I do, Lord Holmes. I realize how terribly I injured my dearest cousin though I understand how you may believe otherwise. I have received news through my servants who have spoken with yours in the markets and other places to learn the whole of the knife I so carelessly wielded. I have sought out the details of the depths of sorrow that I brought your family with so careless intention.  Only the fear I am experiencing would draw me to even attempt to beg forgiveness from my cousin now as I certainly am not deserving of receiving it. John," She turned to him, her eyes full of dread. "I do not feel safe. I do not feel well. I beg of you, please help me in the final stages of this pregnancy. I fear that my husband is some how desirous of an end to this pregnancy without the birth of a healthy child."

                                "I cannot simply turn up at your manor to do so. That would betray to James that your mind is your own again and may set him on his guard. Is he still abroad?" John asked, his face furrowing with thought. Sherlock watched with interest as the gears turned in his husband’s mind.

                                "He is due to return at any moment, my Lord." The servant spoke swiftly.

                                "Return home, do not let him know any of this has come to pass. No, listen to me.” He urged when Elizabeth went to interrupt. “In a week's time speak to him. Explain you are concerned that the apothecary does not have the necessary experience in dealing with pregnancies of your type. As him to write me a letter requesting my assistance with the late stages of your pregnancy. Explain that you have some concern about the apothecary to James and make it sound as if it is truly in his best benefit to seek me out. Imply that my mind is still damaged if you must but find a way to garner his approval for my visit. If he truly values the life of your child he will consent. Then I shall come swiftly to your side." John promised. Mycroft and Sherlock both looked displeased.

                                "Mender..." Mycroft began but John shook his head.

                                "A Solvanaar crest would not allow Moriarty to continue to control her mind. I had doubts about my own control since I have reunited with you my loves. I have researched and explored the abilities of the necklace and found that any mental control is removed when the necklace is placed on. Elizabeth could in no way be acting under his orders in this moment. If that is not proof enough for you look at her face. Her eyes betray her emotion and her concern with none of the details of a lie hidden behind. Her body is trembling with fear as she prepares herself to accept rejection instead of hope." Sherlock's eyes went round and turned a deep blue as arousal began to sweep through him.

                                "He has a fair point brother. He observes her character truthfully." Sherlock whispered. He had never heard someone so accurately describe another person's behavior with the sort of clarity normally reserved for himself and his brother. "I believe his plan to bring Lady Elizabeth's child into the world safely is a sound one, though I am not sure how I feel about it myself."

                                "So be it then. Elizabeth you are saved my anger by John's kindness. John will see you out." Mycroft motioned dismissively.

                                "Thank you Lord Holmes, I appreciate even the smallest of kindness from those who better protect my cousin." Elizabeth stood with the help of John and her servant before the trio began to walk outside. Anthea standing watch at the door.

                                "I do not like the sound of this brother." Mycroft whispered softly.

                                "Nor do I, however we must allow John freedom of choice. Otherwise we are no better than those we despise." The brothers fell silent as they waited for John to return.

                John carefully helped Elizabeth to the edge of the walk and her carriage. He felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up so he looked around to see if someone was watching them. He could see no one. Elizabeth grasped his hand tightly.

                                "John, please forgive me. Grant me that which I do not deserve." She pleaded, looking up at him.

                                "My dearest cousin, you have it. Greater minds than our own have been swayed by lesser vampires than your husband. You and I were both victims of his schemes and we must endeavor to protect you and your child. Remember take the days slowly, be careful of whom you allow to care for you, and summon me in a week." John kissed her cheek. She sighed with relief and threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

                                "Thank you John. Thank you for relieving the dark burden of my heart. I am terribly sorry." She whispered.

                                "I know, go home and rest now. Do not let this trouble your mind further. My heart suffered, however those wrongs are righted now." He kissed her cheek again and helped her into the carriage.

                He stood there for a moment in the dwindling afternoon light, sighing with a bit of relief. Knowing that Elizabeth's mind had not been her own was a greater relief than he expected to find it. He turned to reenter the house and almost shouted in surprise when he found Lord Moran standing directly behind him. He stumbled slightly and Sebastian caught him, helping to right him.

                                "My apologies, little mender. I thought you heard me approach." He smiled warmly, however something darker stirred in his eyes. For the first time since meeting the man so many years ago John felt fear claw at his chest.

                                "There is simply no need to apologize Sebastian, I must have been rather caught up in my thoughts." He offered softly, his eyes hinting that he did not believe that to be entirely true. His guard was up by Sebastian’s smile did not slip in the least. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” John’s tone was formal, his words putting up boundaries where once there had been none.

                                "I have been trying vainly to meeting with you over the course of the last few weeks. I am saddened to say that my attempts have been thwarted by your keepers. I seek you in urgency as I must beg a favor of you.” His voice took on an urgency, his tone softening to draw out the mender’s empathy. “Despite all my efforts to protect my kin it seems that they are once again becoming ill and the likely source is a new herb our servants are using that was brought back by one of my coven from the far East. They have been growing it in our garden for sometime without ill effect, however when the mortals began using it some strange happenings began with my kin. I was hoping that you, clever mender, would do me the honor of investigate this herb in the way only you seem competent of. I have here a bundle containing what little information we could gather and several samples of the herb and the seeds it grows from. Please John, you are the only one I can trust to assist with this and keep my the best interest of my kin at heart.” Moran looked down.

                                “A new herb?” John said softly, furrowing his brow with worry. “Sebastian you know I will do all I can to ensure the safety of your family. I shall investigate this as soon as I am able. I am greatly grieved to hear that any of your family is ill.” John smiled softly, putting his hand reassuringly on Sebastian’s shoulder. “I shall send word as soon as I have come to an answer.” He began to move towards the house, his hand trailing away as he started.

                                "John," Sebastian put his hand a bit too tightly on his arm, stopping John’s motions and holding him in place. "Are you well? The Holmes, they are still treating you kindly?" He asked in a voice that was meant to be soft, to lure John in, however John’s body tensed easily.

                                "Yes, of course they are!" John defended the brothers easily, almost enraged Sebastian would dare say anything of the sort. “Sherlock is a perfect husband and both of the brothers care for not only myself but the entire coven with greater attention than I have seen any other leader give their coven, even you.” John’s voice was meant to be compassionate but his heart ached. He could not stand Sebastian’s insinuation that Sherlock and Mycroft were anything but kind to him.

                                “Be that as it may,” Sebastian said softly, his voice wrapping around John as he stepped closer to the mender. Their bodies just barely apart, his eyes burning into John’s. “You must promise me John, if ever they harm you in any way or if ever your heart begins to feel unhappy here that you shall come to _me_ directly so I may ensure you are well kept and happy.” He leaned forward a bit, his mouth just apart from John’s. John felt how Sebastian’s aura pushed down on his own, how easy it would be for Sebastian to simply overpower him. “I will always protect you _little mender_ , you know my heart and that, John, shall never change.” He promised, his eyes flashing up from John’s lips to meet his gaze.

                                “T-Thank you for your concern, however I am well.” John forced out, his voice trembling as it shook in his chest.

                                “John? Is everything…” Sherlock’s voice echoed down the walk from the house and his aura whipped up into a fury as he saw the scene in front of him. He watched as Sebastian stepped back from John and moved to his husband’s side, squeezing his shoulder possessively. “Oh, good evening Lord Moran, I see you finally found a way to speak with _my husband_.” The growl just barely hidden in his voice.

                                "Yes, I was lucky enough to discover this opportunity. We were in fact just finishing our discussion. I happened to be on my way to see Lady Elizabeth when I noticed him outside.” Sebastian bowed to John. “Until you call, mender.” He said softly stepping back and turning to walk off.

                John was not aware of how violently he was trembling, at least not until Sherlock’s hand dropped from his shoulder to his elbow and directed the mender into the house. John had never before felt so vulnerable and so terrified of Sebastian. In all the years they had met he had always possessed a gentleness that reassured John he was safe despite the history he knew of the coven. Now that gentleness seemed to be a thin mask over something far darker. John however was unable to dwell on his own bodily reaction due to Sherlock’s angry mutterings and tight hold on him as he directed the mender to Mycroft’s study. He kicked opened the door, hard, not noticing when John noticeably jumped. Mycroft was started slightly himself and he looked up at Sherlock, his eyes darkening as he took in the cross look on his brother’s face. He softened however as he looked to John and saw how he was trembling.

                                "What has delayed you so?" Mycroft asked gently. “It should have only required a little time to see Elizabeth off, you have been gone for quite awhile.”

                                "It did not take long to see Elizabeth off however Lord Moran came… Well if I am honest he rather appeared out of nowhere and expressed a wish to speak with me." John forced out, his hand shaking slightly. "He says his coven is again becoming ill and he wishes me to research the herb apparently responsible." Sherlock was still beside him and the anger that transferred between their bond was not assisting John in regaining his calm.

                                "Why are you shaking?" Mycroft swept over, gently touching John's arm. John seemed startled by that but allowed himself to be guided down onto the couch. Mycroft relieving him of the bundle Moran had pressed on him.

                                “Something about Sebastian has changed, his tone was much darker than he has used with me previously. He also made veiled accusations that you are mistreating me, demanding of me that shall I ever become unhappy I should seek his comfort. I…” John looked down, trembling violently. “In all the years I have associated with him I have never before felt so terribly threatened.”

                                “When I happened upon them, brother, Sebastian seemed as if he intended to kiss my husband. From what I witnessed I would be willing to wager that Lord Moran was attempting to use his powers over John and to lure him into a promise that he would leave our sides. I am no longer privileged to believe that his intentions towards our John are admirable. I would recommend to you that we should maintain our distance from him and his kin for the time being.” Sherlock sank down on the other side of John, one hand pressed on the small of the mender’s back.

                                "Seeing John respond as he is I must wholeheartedly agree. His insistence on acquiring your time in order to have you investigate this situation over the last three weeks begs some intrigue. It was not enough for him to allow you time to contact him, when he knew you had suffered so terribly. _My mender_ , I know your heart has been swayed to pursue this matter in order to protect his kin, however I must caution you to carefully consider the information you share with him regarding any matters in the future." Mycroft sighed as John finally relaxed.

                                "I apologize for my reaction, I am not sure why he inspires such darkness in my heart. He was never before so dark in our interactions." John whispered.

                                "It is merely something for us to remain on guard for." Sherlock promised, pulling John into a hug.

                It took John a few days to recover from the ordeal with Lord Moran though his nerves in no way abated as he waited for a summon from Elizabeth. A week came and passed with no word from her. The servants reported that James had in fact returned home later the same afternoon Elizabeth had been to the Holmes manor, however no summon was sent. As time stretched on John grew more nervous that something terrible was befalling his cousin, so it was of no surprise that he began sleeping less and less as the second and third weeks passed. After a month of no news John was sitting, fully dressed on the sofa in the room he and the brothers had been sharing when a thunderous knocking rang through the house. John was up in an instant, helping the others dress. Mycroft pulled on his dressing gown and moved out of the room to allow Sherlock time to dress.

                                “I will get the door.” Anthea shouted as she scurried out from her room.

                                “Who is it?” Mycroft demanded, standing at the top of the stairs and waiting.

                                “Please, I need to see Lord John.” Alexandra said in a tremulous voice.

                                “It is Lady Elizabeth’s servant Alexandra.” Anthea called back, barely able to brace herself for the shock of John suddenly appearing at her side.

                                “What has happened?” He demanded darkly, even as he continued to fix his shirt.

                                “I know not, however I bid you come at once. She is not well and I fear we are losing her to the darkness.” She pleaded, she was worn and there was blood on her apron.

                                “Sherlock,” Mycroft commanded as Sherlock appeared at the top of the stairs beside him. “Go with John to Elizabeth’s manor. I shall go to the Duke and bring him presently. Do _not_ leave John’s side for any reason!” He snapped, striding back to their room to change.

                Sherlock took John’s hand and the pair strode out of the house, following the servant quickly along in the early dawn light. They arrived in short order at the manor where Alexandra led them past several seemingly stupefied servants and into a room that looked more like a battleground than a sleeping chamber. There was a fire burning in the grate with a stack of blood soaked sheets piled before it. Another maid stood, blood all over her apron, as she wiped Elizabeth’s forehead with a cool cloth and it was clear the blood was still coming, though the blanket hid Elizabeth’s discomfort well. John rushed to her side, shushing her as she weakly reached out for him. She was pale and clammy to the touch, weakness was easily read on her and in her motions as she sighed with what seemed like a bit of relief to see John at her side.

                                “Oh John, you came.” She whispered weakly.

                                “Hush cousin, you are wasting precious strength.” John forced out, his eyes glassed over.

                                “There is no strength to be had. He has done something to me, harmed me in a way I could never have imagined.” Tears fell but she stayed as calm as she could, her breath raspy as it moved through her chest.

                                "Elizabeth, please." He whispered, trying to feel her wrist so he could find the strength of the blood pumping in her body. Doing everything he could to try to solve what was hurting her so he could help her.

                                "It is too late, John. I know not how he managed this evil. Though I do know his hand was behind it. The child is lost and I fear the damage of losing her cost me too much.” She lay back, gripping John’s hand as he wiped her forehead again and tried to warm her up.

                Alexandra was trying her best not to cry, though tears ran down her face. She threw some of the blood soaked sheets in the fire and turned back to survey Elizabeth and John with a tight face. Sherlock swept through the room, taking in every detail he could see. There was blood everywhere, Elizabeth was hemorrhaging and must have been for some time. Each servant who attended to her tracking some blood to somewhere new. He turned to face Alexandra as she rested at his side.

                                "When did this begin?" Sherlock asked quickly, trying to piece the puzzle together.

                “The bleeding came before dawn. She was resting peacefully for the first night in several days and I was woken from my slumber here in her chambers by the sounds of screams. The baby was coming and there was nothing we could do to help her through it. Then the bleeding came and would not stop. We have tried every means we know to stop it however it refuses to be controlled.” Her voice was soft as she watched Elizabeth open her eyes.

                “I’ll find a way to help Elizabeth. Please rest.” John pleaded but Elizabeth opened her eyes and gave him a sad smile.

                “John,” She whispered, reaching out with a shaking arm to grab his hand, stopping him before he pulled away. “Your forgiveness was all I needed. Please, John… Stay away from them. They are… They will…” Her chest shuddered as her breath came and then left her completely, taking her life with it. John did not let go of her hand, looking down as anger and tears welled up in his chest.

                His body went rigid as he reached up and closed her eyes, ignoring how the servants all crossed themselves. All but Alexandra scurried from the room, leaving the three of them and the body alone. John’s silence stretched thin but Sherlock knew he needed more information so he could prove that James had done this.

                                “Tell us what happened since you left our home.” He asked as gently as he could, focusing on her and allowing John a moment in his grief.                       

                       "We returned from our visit to find a group of servants preparing for Lord Moriarty to return home. They informed us that he would arrive within the afternoon and he did. When he returned they reported to him that she had been out of the manor when they arrived and he was quite angry that she had been out of the house. The apothecary was with him and immediately took Elizabeth to her chambers and proceeded to examine her. He announced that her outting had sapped what careful health she had been restored during his treatment of her and that she was to remain within her chambers at all times for the remaining portion of her pregnancy. We were told that she was too weak to tolerate normal meals and that for two weeks she was to be given naught by broth. I protested explaining that to do so would rob her of her health and I was denied the privilege of helping her with meals. Another servant, one of those who returned with Lord Moriarty took over care of her feedings. I tried to bring her food and water as I was sure she required however I was discovered and Lord Moriarty had me imprisoned in the servants quarters for almost a fortnight. By the time I was released she was gravely ill and barely able to lift her head. Last week Lord Moriarty was summoned away by Lord Moran and I was able to return some health to her. It took a fight but several of the male servants believed she was being mistreated and agreed to help me overcome those Lord Moriarty had brought with him. What I did not know until this morning however was that she was still taking the herbs the apothecary made for her, they were being given to her by another servant during the times I was sleeping. Lord Moriarty is due to return this afternoon and I wish I could say this timing was not convenient for him.” Alexandra began to cry and Sherlock helped her into a chair.

                He watched in stunned silence as John stood and walked over to the ceramic vessel containing Elizabeth’s herbs and began to go through it as if it contained the secret to life. He took a handful of the herbs and scattered them out on the table as he examined each component of the blend. Footsteps echoed in the hall and Sherlock looked up just as Mycroft led the Duke into the room.

                      "Oh my Elizabeth!" The Duke cried crossing himself before walking over to the bed. He gently brushed the hair off her face, his tears becoming more rapid.

           Mycroft turned and followed Sherlock’s gaze as both brothers watched John battling his emotion and anger to focus on each tiny piece of herb before him. He rubbed his fingers together before inhaling the scent on them and rubbing them again. He then placed a finger with herb dust on it, in his mouth. He growled but said nothing. The Duke however turned to look at the three of them.

                                “What has happened to my Elizabeth?” He demanded darkly.

                       "Your Excellence, I believe that Lord Moriarty was the cause of this..." Sherlock began, but was cut off as John spoke up.

                                "He used the apothecary to poison her." John interrupted, growling as he stood up. "Elizabeth came to us just over a month ago saying she feared for the life of both herself and her child. She begged me to come and aid her and I ensured her I would, however I believed that she would be able to sway Lord Moriarty to allow it. The apothecary has made this herbal blend and it contains an herb known by all of the women of our world to induce a baby's arrival. It has been used often times to draw out a baby who does not wish to come. I believe the amount he was giving her has been increasing over time due to its’ lack of effect. Though he knew not that her normal eating habits were keeping the herb from reaching the child in large quantities. I believe he spoke to the apothecary on his return to find her still alive and thus a decision was made to restrict her intake of food and thus allow the poison to work. He has done this with intention and care to gain access to your title, wealth, and power via the life of my cousin.” John’s tone was tight, his words snapped free in anger as he spit them out. Sherlock stared at him in awe, too impressed to say more of what was on his mind.

                                “Then he shall be punished for this! This is an outrage! I instructed them to allow only you to care for her. They have gone against my wishes and orders!” The Duke shouted, looking up as two sets of footsteps echoed into the hall.

                                “Lord Holmes, John… Why are you here?” Lord Moran demanded softly as he and Moriarty entered the room. “What has happened?

                                “You!” John growled.

                                “What has happened to my wife?! What have you done to my Elizabeth, John?!” Moriarty demanded darkly, though he was quick to realize no one believed his words.

                                "What did I do?! You did this!" John began to launch himself towards the man, but was restrained at the last moment by his husband, who wrapped him tightly in his arms.

                                “No John, do not attack him.” Sherlock cooed in his ear, trying to soothe his grieving husband.

                                “I have done nothing! You are the one here with herbs all over your hands!” Moriarty snapped back.

                                “What has happened?” Moran demanded darkly, apparently displeased with Moriarty’s accusations against John.

                                “Lady Elizabeth took ill this morning and both she and the child have perished.” Mycroft said softly, watching as John shook in Sherlock’s arms. John looked ready to rip Moriarty apart.

                                “How was this accomplished?” Moran pressed on.

                                "He has poisoned her with herbs, giving her one used to bring the child before the child was ready. Either he compelled or else paid the apothecary to provide it within the normal herbs that a woman in her condition would imbibe. As it was in powder form he believed he would be able to get away with this crime, I however can detect even the smallest hint of the herb. He has killed both her child and her in order to gain her nobility." John growled, Sherlock the only thing holding him back.

                                “John, you are sure James was the cause of this?” Moran demanded swiftly.

                                “Yes. Without a doubt in my mind.” John growled, clawing into Sherlock’s arms.

                       "You are stripped of your title and you are to remove yourself from my city!" The Duke shouted.

                       "Do not trouble yourself with more than that, your Excellence. I shall see that he is properly punished in light of all his crimes. As you know we have our own laws when it comes to violations against mortals. I am terribly sorry for your loss and to know one of my kin caused it deeply grieves me. I had hoped this bond would strengthen our ties not ruin them.” Moran sighed darkly, turning to face Moriarty. “Fledgling on your knees." He growled, his aura rising and pushing down on those of all present. Moriarty trembled but slowly sank to his knees under the control of his Sire.

           Moran bit harshly into James neck and drained him to the point the man was hardly able to hold himself upright. Moran scooped the fledgling into his arms as if he were made of air instead of being a solid person. His eyes cold and hard as he carried him from the manor and to his waiting carriage. Sherlock pulled John out of the room, keeping his grip firmly on his husband. He left Mycroft to attend to the Duke and took his mate home so he could properly grieve.

                                “John, my love…” Sherlock whispered as they entered their room and he closed the door. “I am terribly sorry.”

                                “I could have saved her!” John shouted, shaking in anger. “If I had…” Tears fell down his cheeks as his rage broke free.

                                “No my love, you could not.” Sherlock forced John to allow him to wrap his arms around him again. Holding him even as he struggled. “You knew that Moriarty would do something more dangerous if he believed you to be involved. What you did and how you approached the situation was the best you could do my love.” John continued to struggle for a long time before he broke and his tears claimed him.

                Sherlock held him tightly for as long as he cried, keeping him safely ensconced in his arms. He knew this would be difficult for his love, however he also knew this was a terribly important lesson. One he would have to learn sooner or later, the darkest of lessons that came with their immortal life. Not everyone would remain in their lives forever. They were lying in the bed, John shivering slightly as his emotion finally ebbed when Mycroft returned. He joined them, both brothers curling John between them as they tried to support him the best they could in the moment. The funeral came and went, along with news from Lord Moran that James Moriarty had been sentenced to fifty years sleep without blood.

                                “That sounds like hardly a punishment!” John raged, stalking back and forth as he paced the length of Mycroft’s study.

                                “To the uneducated yes.” Mycroft said soothingly. “However allow me to explain what this particular punishment entails. When a vampire chooses to sleep they take blood and simply go to rest the next dayfall. The remain in their chambers and simply allow the blood to slowly fade until they become still, almost as if they are made of stone. In this case James Moriarty will be put into a tiny chamber, much like a mortal coffin. His blood will be drained by his Sire until he is on the edge of death. Then he will be bolted into the chamber where he will be fed only a nominal amount of blood daily for the next fifty years. Thus for fifty years he shall be suffering on the edge of death. They will keep him, a prisoner of his own mind, for that time. In most cases a vampire who has gone through this sort of punishment no longer remembers themselves when they are awoken.”

                                “It is true, my love. If the punishment is carried out as it should be he may not even maintain his fixation on us when he arises in fifty years.” Sherlock sighed, watching Mycroft closely.

                                “It has come time for us to move residences. With these most recent goings on at court I believe it’s time for us to change to one of our other manor houses for a time. As you have already been to France I was considering we might go to Germany first and then to France.” John looked at Mycroft with confusion as he finished speaking.

                                “Every fifty years or so we change manor houses, it helps keep the suspicions down of the general populace. The monarchies know of our existence and rely on us for many things however if everyone knew of our kind it could be detrimental to our existence. We have been here for almost fifty years now, so it would be proper for us to change.”

                And so it was. Within a few years Anthea, Sherlock, Mycroft, John, and George left the manor house in England and took up residence in Germany. They resided there for twenty years before Mycroft determined it was become a bit too dangerous and he directed them to France. There they remained for the remainder of the fifty years Mycroft had alotted for them to be away from England. All three of the men began to miss home desperately.

                                “Are you certain everything is packed?” Mycroft demanded as he looked over the two carriages. “Why must I go without you?” He demanded as Sherlock and John surveyed their things.

                                “The carriages only hold so many of us and our things Mycroft, you and Anthea shall ride ahead with the bulk of the luggage. George will ride on his own and we shall be right behind you.” Sherlock urged, sighing as the driver urged the carriages forward. A loud crack brought the three men to the second carriage in moments.

                                “I apologize my Lords, it seems the wheel broke. We will have to unload it to fix it but we shall have it done within a few hours.” The driver promised. Mycroft frowned.

                                “This won’t do, we’ll leave some of our luggage behind so you two may ride with us.”

                                “Do not be silly. We will be but a half day behind you at most. It is not that long of a journey to the coast, brother mine.” Sherlock sighed.

                                “I know you are worried and I know why.” John said softly, stepping closer to Mycroft. He kissed him softly. “You must go ahead to hold the boat for us, or else we may not make it in time. If anything should happen we shall send for you immediately. A rider on a single horse would find it easy to gain on you if something terrible should occur to us. It will be alright, my Sire.”

                                “I do not like this.” Mycroft whispered in reply, his brow furrowed. Sherlock looked between them, tilting his head slightly like a puppy might.

                                “We do not know if he has been released yet. Lord Moran’s absence has been worrying, however we are not weak. We can fight if we must. Their coven is far to the North in any case. Please Mycroft, you must go on ahead and we shall follow as soon as we are safely able.”

                                “Oh…” Sherlock whispered, stepping close to them. “It has been enough time has it not? Mycroft, please be sensible. We shall be fine.” Sherlock urged.

                                “I do this under protest.” Mycroft snapped, sighing darkly.

                                “Do not tarry long. Mycroft’s heart will not weather it well.” Anthea chided.

                                “It is just becoming dark now, if we are lucky the wheel shall be fixed and we shall leave before midnight. Go so you may catch the captain before he decides to leave without us. We have been delayed two extra days as it is.” Sherlock ordered.

                Mycroft kissed them both softly before allowing Anthea to lead him away, though he could not stop the dark gnawing feeling in his chest. One he now knew John shared. Sherlock however could not be happier with their ‘misfortune.’ After informing one of the servants to alert them the moment the wheel was fixed he took John in the house, to their room, and locked the door.

                                “Do you know what today is?” He whispered as he pushed John into the door and ravaged him with a deep kiss.

                                “I… What?” John forced out, his brain stuttering under the force of his loves passion.

                                “Today is the anniversary of the day you gave me your life.” He whispered, shoving their mouths back together for another fiery kiss. “And now I have time to cherish you properly.” He growled, clawing John’s shirt off.

                His mouth and hands were all over his lover’s body as he removed his clothing. His lips finding purchase on John’s neck, chest, nipples, suckling on his hips, and threatening to devour him whole. The intensity of Sherlock’s desire burned in their bond and swirled around the two of them until they forgot everything but the moment. John whimpering and pleading as he tried to remove Sherlock’s shirt with shaking hands. Sherlock growled, grabbing John’s hands and pinning them behind his back as he kissed him until he was panting.

                                “You’re mine.” He growled darkly, lathing attention on his neck. John arched and groaned.

                                “Yes… Yes I am.” He said breathlessly as their mouths collided back together.

                                “I am going to have you now, then while we are traveling I am going to make our companions think the vessel is coming apart as I unmake you.” Sherlock promised darkly, dragging John over to the bed.

                John gave in, letting Sherlock’s possessiveness take over. Sherlock’s desperation to claim John now that Mycroft was gone. It was rare for Sherlock to feel so incredibly possessed of the need to mark John as his, the bond between the brothers and their mender was often equal on all sides. However something in Sherlock demanded this satisfaction now and he was not going to let the opportunity pass him by. He kissed down John’s body again, pushing him down into the mattress as he took John’s length into his mouth. John shouted and arched, the sensation sparking through his body like flames.

                                “God you always make the most beautiful sounds.” Sherlock purred as he pulled up off John with a wet noise.

                                “Oh my love, please…” John groaned as Sherlock clawed into his chest. Sherlock trailed his mouth down, grabbing John’s hips hard when John bucked up in surprise. Sherlock’s tongue tracing the quivering ring of muscle he so longed to claim. “Sherlock!” John panted, clawing the bed hard.

                                “Hm?” Sherlock hummed, grinning darkly as John shouted and moaned. He pushed his tongue in, enjoying the taste of his lovers body and each tremor that ran through it. He worked him for a long time before John found his voice again.

                                “Please love, please! If you… If you continue…” John gasped as his body began to clench and Sherlock pulled away.

                                “I want your release.” Sherlock groaned, shoving his trousers down and pushing roughly into his love. John arched again, Sherlock leaning down and pushing his fangs into his neck as he set a harsh, claiming pace.

                It was only a matter of moments before John tumbled over the edge of his release and took Sherlock with him. Both of them panting as they stared at each other and tried to come back into the world. They lay there, wound together like a thread until a soft knock echoed on the door sometime later.

                                “My Lords, the carriage is ready.” A woman called.

                                “We shall be right down.” Sherlock replied, smiling as he kissed John over and over. “Come now, Mycroft will be eagerly waiting for us. Likely wringing his hands like a woman if we do not hurry.”

                                “Do not be so cruel to your brother my love, you know he cares deeply for both of us.” John chided as they dressed.

                                “True, however if I did not torment him he would get bored.” Sherlock giggled and John laughed with him.

                The pair left the house, their hands clasped together and got into the carriage. Both excited to get back to England, to their home. They chatted idly as they remained curled together in the interior of the carriage and the forest passed by outside. John began to doze lightly and Sherlock simply smiled and held him allowing the peaceful contentedness of the moment to surround them. Shortly after their departure Lord Moran arrived at the manor house in France.

                                “Hello Lord Moran, what may I do for you?” The female servant asked pleasantly.

                                “Are the Holmes still here?” He demanded quickly.

                                “No my Lord. Lord Mycroft left at darkfall and Lords Sherlock and John left a short while ago. Their carriage lost a wheel and had to be repaired.” She looked concerned.

                                “Oh… There is little time.” Moran growled and reined his horse hard, tearing off towards the forest.

                Sherlock smiled as John opened his sleepy eyes and looked up at his love, leaning up to press a gentle kiss against his lips. Sherlock deepened the kiss, pulling John more tightly to himself when the carriage suddenly gave a violent lurch. A loud noise echoed around them and the carriage tumbled over. It tumbled three times before splintering mostly apart, leaving only the top of the carriage laying two feet from where the two men were sprawled. Both groaned and slowly sat up, wary of their surroundings. A small gash on John’s forehead healed slowly as they helped each other up and looked around. They could feel the energy of several vampires around him.

                                “Oh my, it looks like you could use some assistance, Lord Holmes.” A voice called from the shadows, both men tensing visibly.

                                “We require nothing from you, thank you.” Sherlock snarled.

                                “Oh I do not believe that is entirely true.” The voice was suddenly right behind them and Sherlock shouted as something pierced his skin.

                                “Sherlock!” John turned and tried to grab his love, but a pair of hands grabbed him and held him back. “Moriarty!” John growled, struggling hard against the person holding him.

                                “Hold him tight Sebby, we would not want him to hurt himself.” James growled, looking as Sherlock sank to his knees shaking. He tossed a hollow tipped knife to the ground. “Easy there my love.” James purred in Sherlock’s ear, leaning down beside him.

                                “I am not…” Sherlock grunted, clawing into the dirt.

                                “Do you understand what is going to happen now?” James laughed, Mary emerged from the shadows with a crossbow aimed at John. “You have been poisoned Sherlock. Made to believe that John is your mate, when really it is me.” James hoisted him up, smiling as Sherlock went pliant in his arms.

                                “I do not understand…” Sherlock said quietly, furrowing his brow and swaying.

                                “You will, my love.” He promised.

                                “Sherlock!” John shouted, managing to get one arm free. A bolt tore through his left shoulder, making him shout in pain.

                                “Excellent shot, Mary dear.” James pured. “This is really your doing, John. Sending Sebastian the information on how that Eastern herb could be used to control vampires. What did you think he wanted that information for? You are so hopelessly naive, not seeing what is right in front of you.” His eyes were wide and angry as he walked over and grabbed John by the throat.

                                “Do not…” Sherlock took a hesitant step forward, holding the wound where he had been stabbed. It was not healing as it should. His entire body was trembling and his mind kept fading in and out.

                                “You have brought this on your ‘mate.’ Using your research I created the perfect weapon: a hollow pointed knife full of a mixture of herbs that will make Sherlock forget you ever breathed.” James growled in John’s ear, holding him roughly. The bolt was still caught in his body, blood trickling down as his body attempted to heal around it. James yanked on it, enjoying the painful shout it tore from John’s throat.

                                “I…” Sherlock sank down on one knee, shaking hard. “ _John my body will not respond to me. I… My mind…_ ”

                                “Sherlock…” John groaned, trying again to get free. A second bolt lodged itself in his chest. He shouted again but continued trying to struggle.

                                “Sherlock is mine. You stole him from me.” James said firmly, planting the memory in Sherlock’s mind. “You have kept him as your hostage for too long John. I have come to take him home!” He shouted, grabbing Sherlock tightly. Sherlock leaned on him as he helped him up again, groaning softly in pain. “Oh my love, he stabbed you too.” James made a pained face, his voice soft and full of emotion. “I shall take you home, we shall get you better.” He promised and Sherlock felt his mind fading in and out.

                                “Sherlock…” John gasped, struggling to get free. Blood beginning to trickle down his stomach.

                                “J...J…” Sherlock mumbled, he was trying to fight the control of the drugs but he could not win.

                                “Easy my love, he cannot harm you now.” James whispered, guiding Sherlock away. He nodded and another bolt tore through John’s stomach, falling on the ground behind him. He sank to his knees, trembling.

                                “Sherlock.” He gasped out, trying to find the strength to stand.

                Sherlock could not fight no matter how desperately he was trying. He felt his mind losing control of his body and the moment they seemed to separate. He felt the moment he lost and his mind seemed to go dark. James smiled as Sherlock’s eyes glassed over, the herbs were stronger than he’d anticipated.

                                “Take that filthy ring off and give it back to that liar.” James ordered, watching as Sherlock used a trembling hand to pull his wedding ring off and throw it at John. “We are going to go home now my love. I will make this better.” He promised, guiding Sherlock by the arm.

                                “ _Sherlock!_ ” John’s voice shook.

                                “ _I cannot stop my body John. Whatever he has done has taken my control from me. Please love, please forgive me._ ” Tears ran down Sherlock’s face and James seemed only amused by them.

                                “ _I will not let him do this. I love you. This is not you!_ ” John struggled to his feet, the noise making James turn back to look.

                                “Well you are rather persistent are you not?” James cooed, wrapping an arm tightly around Sherlock. “He belongs to me now John and you shall suffer in death knowing that. Mary, sunrise is only a few hours away. Make sure it takes our little _mender_ with it when it comes.” James walked over and forced Sherlock onto his horse, mounting behind him.

                                “ _JOHN!_ ” Sherlock’s voice tore through John’s mind as a series of crossbow bolts tore into him in rapid succession. Some remaining lodged others passing through him, until he collapsed. One hand loosely closed around Sherlock’s ring.

                                “ _Sher… Sherlock…_ ”

                                “No…” Sherlock mumbled, fighting the control of the drugs. Moriarty smirked and simply kept his hand tightly on the back of Sherlock’s shirt, driving a second knife into his side. “JOHN!”

                                “Come along now Sebby. We have a boat to meet.” James ordered and the group retreated. Sherlock collapsing over and John trying desperately to get up.

                Silence fell around John as tears cascaded down his face. He tried over and over to pull himself from the dirt and to find a means of following after them. To try to save his beloved. He gasped and choked as the pain bit at him and he realized the glow of the morning was beginning to lighten the world around him. He would die if he did not find some form of shelter from the light of the sun, he would die and Sherlock would forever be trapped with James. He panicked his body far too weak to weather the loss of strength those rays would bring. His eyes fell on the remaining portion of the carriage, half lodged in the ground. The roof was mostly intact though it was several feet away from where he lay, bleeding as his body struggled to try to heal. Gripping Sherlock’s ring more tightly to give himself strength, he began to drag himself, biting down on his lip to keep from shouting in pain as the bolts tore at him. It took almost all the remaining strength he had to make it to the carriage and he almost gave up when he realized he would have to work to get underneath of it. He lay there, watching the light grow stronger as the will to fight tried to leave him. However the thought of Sherlock now so dangerously powerless in Moriarty’s grasp gave him the energy he needed to claw his way through the dirt and slip under the roof just as the daylight fully settled in. Using the last of his energy to pile up the dirt in the hole he made, he collapsed into a darkness full of tears.

                Moran rode swiftly concern settling deep in his heart as the darkness grew thin. James had gone against their carefully crafted plans and he was certain John’s life may be forfeit if he did not reach him in time. His daughter came to rest at his side, ever his faithful, if ignorant, companion. They rode in silence until they found the ruined carriage. Blood littered the ground and Moran feared they had been too late. He could feel a weak presence of energy however he could not seem to find the source, try as he might. It was a broken sob of a man who felt he had failed, that alerted him to John’s presence. He let out a heavy sigh, closing his eyes in relief.

                                “Anna, it is midday now. I need you to ride ahead and inform Lord Holmes of what has transpired. James has struck and taken Sherlock. I fear I do not know the extent of our menders injuries and I shall not endeavour to find out until darkfall. Ride to them now and hold them until I can bring him to them. It may take a little time depending on his injuries however we must return him to his kin.”

                                “Father I cannot…” Anna began to protest.

                                “I said go!” He raged and she turned her horse and tore off for the coast.

                Mycroft was pacing back and forth in the inn where they were staying as they waited for the others to join them. The darkness in his heart was growing stronger and something began to gnaw away at his calm as time passed. He looked up at the sound of horse hooves and threw open the door of the inn, his face falling when he saw Anna.

                                “Something has happened.” She gasped out as she ran inside, closing the door on the daylight. She was panting from her ride. “Their carriage was attacked.”

                                “It was James was it not?” Mycroft demanded darkly, cursing himself for not remaining behind.

                                “My father and I fear so.”

                                “Where is your father?” Mycroft’s tone darkened considerably as he realized that Moran was not with her.

                                “He remained behind with the mender. Well we believe it is the mender. There is far too much blood to move anything until night falls. Whomever it is they are alive but unwell.” She looked up as George entered the inn.

                                “Lord Holmes, a sailor just informed me that another boat was commissioned to return to England and I am rather certain I saw your brother being taken on board it.” George looked worried.

                                “Where is our John?” Anthea demanded of Anna.

                                “He is a short ride back in the forest. Their carriage was destroyed and if the blood is to tell the story at least one of them was gravely injured.”

                                “I must go to him.” Mycroft turned to walk out of the inn.

                                “My father will bring him to you after darkfall. Do not fear for John’s life. My father assured me his wish was to return John to you Lord Holmes.”

                Mycroft stalked out, traveling briskly down the port until he saw the other boat. He hid himself behind some crates and listened as several soldiers explained how a man had just shown up with his injured mate and declared he would buy the boat if he must however he needed to return to England right away. Mycroft was considering his options when he felt his brother reach his mind.

                                “ _Mycroft…_ ” Sherlock’s voice was weak and full of pain.

                                “ _Brother, what has happened?_ ” Mycroft’s jaw twitched.

                                “ _Moriarty has poisoned me, the… The herb Moran asked John… To study before… We left England is for control of the mind and body. Please, Mycroft is John…_ ” Sherlock’s voice was weak, cutting in and out.

                                “ _I… I fear I do not know. I feel him however he is weak and I have been told I must wait for Moran to bring him to me. It is daylight now and moving him if he is injured…_ ”

                                “ _He is. Gravely so. Please Mycroft, protect him. I… I am too weak to reach him now. I fear I will lose myself in this. Promise me…_ ”

                                “ _I am going to free you from this boat. You will come home with us._ ” Mycroft growled, planning his attack.

                                “ _It is too dangerous. He has warned them someone may come trying to kidnap me. I would gladly forfeit my life to save John’s. Please brother, you must keep him safe. Keep him strong. I will find a way home._ ” Sherlock’s voice was growing steadily weaker.

                                “ _Brother…_ ”

                                “ _England, is first… Guard him from… Moran...”_ Sherlock’s voice faded and the connection broke. Before Mycroft could consider taking any action he realized, too late, the boat had been undocked and was setting sail. He clenched his fist and punch the crate in front of him in anger, breaking the wood.

                It took all his cunning but Sebastian was able to get himself underneath the carriage roof without exposing John to sunlight. He pulled the weakened mender into his arms, wincing as John cried out in pain.

                                “I have you my mender.” Sebastian promised, holding him gently.

                                “Sher…” John forced out, trying to move.

                                “Rest now, Sherlock is too far out of your reach for the moment. We must get you back to your coven.” Moran sighed, propping himself up. “It will be dark soon, then you shall have some of my blood and I will return you to your kin.” He promised in a soft voice, using his power to lull the weakened mender into a sense of security in his arms. He felt the moment John went lax and he growled darkly. “You idiot.” He growled. “If you had only remained with me none of this would have happened. You are mine John. That we must continue this charade…” He growled darkly, his eyes looking like they would devour John. “Rest assured my mender I will punish James for what he has done to you. No harm was to come to you, my little one.” A smile crossed his face as a rainstorm blew up around him, providing enough cover from the sun that Moran was able to remove the bolts from John’s body. John groaned and began to wake.

                                “Seb… Sebas…” He tried to force out, trying to force him to go after James, to rescue Sherlock.

                                “Here, take a little of my blood.” He ordered, pressing his wrist to John’s mouth. He groaned as John drank but he was too weak to drink more than a small amount before his body went limp again. He was on the edge of life and death, his body pliant in Sebastian’s arms.

                His smile darkened as his aura easily overpowered the menders mind. He could never control John when he was at his best, however now, weakened by these wounds, Moran had a chance to finally take some relief from his prey. He leaned down and kissed John hard, enjoying how John made soft noises of protest though he was deeply asleep and under the calming effect of Sebastian’s aura. He trailed his fingers down, loosening his shirt and caressing the wounded but slowly healing skin underneath. He felt himself grow hard with desire and taking John’s loose hand he caressed himself. John grunted, trying to wake himself, but could not.

                                “Oh my mender…” Sebastian cooed darkly in his ear as his used John’s hand to pleasure himself. “I have to have you.” He growled. John grunted against, but his mind was too far gone to understand what was happening. Sebastian maneuvered them so he could slam himself inside the menders pliant and broken body. John let out a loud shout of pain, but did not fully wake. Utterly unaware of how Sebastian was violating him. “God yes… You are mine. You will dream of this in your darkest moments and when you come to me for the answer I will claim you as my own.” He growled, his body tightening as John’s body responded to his touch. He hissed John’s name in his ear as he released hard, deep into John’s body. He lay there panting, holding the muttering mender in his arms. He reached down and stroked John hard and without finesse until his body shuddered and released. He enjoyed his handiwork as John went completely boneless and the darkness claimed him.

                Hours later when darkness had set in Sebastian pushed the carriage over. He bit down on his wrist, offering it to the mender who drank a bit but was too weak to feed much. He took the broken body into his arms and mounted his horse, riding full speed for the coast. Mycroft was on his way to the forest when they met, John’s body still covered in dried blood and his wounds still only partially healed.

                                “John!” Mycroft gasped and all but wrenched him from Sebastian’s arms.

                                “Father!” Anna gasped and threw herself into his arms, hugging him.

                                “Take him home and help him heal.” Sebastian ordered Mycroft. “I will try to follow James and free Sherlock.” Moran gently ran a hand over John’s forehead but he groaned and pulled away, curling into Mycroft’s arms. Mycroft’s gaze darkened.

                                “George get our things, Anthea get our Captain.” Mycroft growled, his eyes flashing dangerously at Sebastian.

                                “Yes Lord Holmes.”

                                “Thank you for bringing him. I do not know what urged you to follow us but I shall be forever grateful you did.” Mycroft said as politely as he could.

                                “If I have saved John’s life it was worth the effort. I will see you in England.” Sebastian stormed off.

                Mycroft took John directly onto the ship and into his own room, laying him gently down on the bed and surveying him. He growled darkly when he saw the signs that John had been used and he leaned down pushing his fangs into John’s neck and taking only a little of his blood. The situation coalesced in his mind as he bit into his wrist and helped John drink, giving him more blood than Sebastian had allowed him. John slowly opened his eyes, groaning in pain.

                                “Easy love. You are safe now. I have failed you terribly and I am sorry. I shall not do so again.” He whispered to the broken mender, leaning down and pressing his forehead to the others.

                                “Sher?” He asked shaking.

                                “I am sorry love, Moriarty took him before I knew he was here.” Mycroft whispered.

                                “No…” John gasped, tears coming. Mycroft simply held him, both of them shedding tears as they heard the sounds of the sailors preparing the ship to depart.

                                “We will find him. I swear it to you. Please John, let me heal you.” He pleaded, clinging to John. John went limp, utterly exhausted and broken, tears falling faster and faster as his hand fell open and revealed Sherlock’s ring. Mycroft gently took it and tenderly held it as he watched John sink back into the darkness of his exhaustion. “Rest now love.” He whispered sinking down and vowing not to leave John’s side. “He is going to England and I will not rest until he is back in our arms.” He promised in a soft whisper.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a lot of time skipping ahead in the next few chapters and some Mystrade coming up. Don't worry I promise, absolutely promise if you stick this out there will be a happy JohnLocky ending!


	9. Poisoned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the aftermath of Sherlock's kidnapping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ::Sheepishly waves:: Hello my lovelies! I am so, so sorry for the exceedingly long delay! I am now finished with school, have resolved (or am in the process of resolving) my health issues, and potentially looking at a new job (with a much more normal schedule)! This means I should be able to update a bit more regularly. My hope is to get the next chapter up by June 18th!
> 
> This portion of the story contains a lot of sucker punches too the feels, please forgive me!

                The ship lilted and bucked as the ocean seemed intent on keeping the Holmes clan from reaching the shores of their homeland without the lovers united. For days on end George, Anthea, and Mycroft had kept a constant vigil at the weakened mender's side. John had scarcely been awake for longer than a moment since they'd left port, lost in some internal darkness and pain. Mycroft had done his best to nurse John to some semblance of health over the course of their journey, however without the mender awake it was difficult to ensure he was progressing positively. John had been plagued by nightmares and terrors in the darkness of his mind and broken heart, the sound of Sherlock shouting in pain ringing constantly in his ears. He gasped and came awake violently as the nightmare again tore at him, his head swimming and his gaze unfocused as he tried to push himself up. His entire body felt heavy and weak, utterly debilitated by what had happened. His mind slowly came back into the world only to find his Sire leaning over him with a pained expression. John tried to speak, his mouth dry and thick with emotion, however Mycroft hushed him.

                                "Go easy my mender." Mycroft urged, bracing him as he helped John sit up. Anthea looked up from her seat by the door.

                                "Where are we?" John croaked out, taking the blood wine Mycroft offered with a shaking hand.

                                "On our way home, back to England. We shall try to find Moriarty when we arrive." He sighed; looking down as he gently ran his fingers through John's hair. "My mender, I am terribly sorry this has happened. I should not have allowed you two to travel alone. I knew something would happen and I could have protected you." He dropped his head to John's shoulder in exhausted relief. "I am pleased you have awoken. We almost lost you both in one day."

                                "Sherlock is..." John shuddered and Mycroft instantly realized the carelessness of his words.

                                "Oh... How careless of me. No my love, my apologies. He is poisoned and still very much in the possession of James Moriarty, however he was still of moderate strength when he spoke with me through our mental connection before his boat departed.” He sighed softly as John turned to him with an even more pained expression. All he had, had was silence; deep, unyielding silence - while he was tormented by memories and pain. “I had intended to board their vessel and return Sherlock to us; however Sherlock insisted I wait until we returned home. He seemed concerned more for your safety than his own. Though I did not know the reasons why at that time."

                                "How I failed him..." John whispered looking down as tears came. Mycroft bit his lip nervously. He did not know how to properly console John in this moment. Least of all when it was quite possible that Moran had been involved in the plan.

                                "You have failed no one John. You did the best you could. I have seen your memory of what happened and you fought more bravely than most." Mycroft promised. “You fought more than I could have had I been there myself. Please my mender, take rest. We will bring him back to our side.” His voice shook with concern as John’s strength ebbed. He caught the blood wine in time to stop it from spilling and helped John back against the pillows. “I will not leave your side.” He promised in a whisper.

                Darkness came and John let it wash over him. Meanwhile on another ship the darkness slowly broke as Sherlock opened his eyes. He was groggy, his side ached, and his mind was lost in a confused fog. The stab wound in his side was healing terribly slowly, as if something was keeping it from healing properly. As he sat up he heard a flurry of movement, his eyes opening to find the concerned face of James Moriarty looming over him. He tried to pull away only to find he could not make his body respond.

                                “Easy my love, easy,” James whispered, cupping Sherlock’s cheek. His eyes soft with false emotion and his touch gentle, as if luring Sherlock into safety.  “That evil man is far away now. He can hurt you no longer. I have brought you home my love.” He whispered, trying to kiss Sherlock who pulled away violently.

                                “He did not hurt me!” Sherlock shouted, groaning as pain tore through him.

                                “How is it that your brother allowed him to poison your mind so? How can you not remember that you are my mate?” James looked pained and he looked down. Sherlock furrowed his brow in confusion. Memories swam in his mind, some that he was certain were real and others that seemed real though his heart ached at them.

                                “John is my mate. He is my match.” His voice shook. He forced himself away from James, trying to stand - only to crash back down.

                                “Easy my love, you are very weak. The poisons are strong and sapping you of whatever tender strength I can return to you.” James sighed and motioned for a bottle of blood wine.

                                “Then why am I in a prison cell?! Your lies will not take hold in my mind. John is my husband!” James sighed. He softened his face and held Sherlock against himself, offering a cup of blood wine.

                                “Here, drink some.” He encouraged, holding the cup to Sherlock's lips. Sherlock growled when he tasted herbs.

                                "They will help you heal love, please." James begged, again tipping the cup to his lips. Sherlock fought as long as he could but the darkness that came when he lost control returned and he knew nothing of the world for a long time.

***

                Six dark months passed and each night brought nothing but more disappointment and heart ache. John stood still as stone in the silence that settled around him, as it did many nights when he retreated to the solace of the library. He could not stand to stay in his and his husband's chambers, far too pained by the memories that he knew Moriarty was stripping away from his loves mind. He sank down on the sofa far in the back of the library, out of sight of the door and closed his eyes - hoping that this time his dreams would be empty. As he slept however his mind brought him to his favorite place as a child - to the forest near his adopted parents’ home. The one where he'd spent so many hours writing things he'd learned about herbs, vampires, and his heritage.

                _He sighed as he sank down on the limb of the tree he'd grown so familiar with and he looked up at the blue sky through the leaves._

_"John?" A voice whispered and John's eyes snapped back down to earth. He stood, freezing as he did. The sound of rustling leaves, parting a path for another man as he approached were the only noise in the space._

_"How?" John demanded coolly, stepping tentatively forward._

_"This is your mind... I have... I have been trying..."_

_"Sherlock..." John whispered, turning away. "This is just my mind playing tricks on me." He muttered darkly, clinging to the branch._

_"No my love..." Sherlock stepped forward, reaching out to touch John's shoulder. "I have been trying to reach your mind like this for what feels like an age. Moriarty has not been giving me the herb as much these last few days. I felt my mind regain itself only a few hours ago and I knew the first thing I must do was try to reach you again. God that you live..." He whispered in a shaking voice. Tears came and fell down both their faces as Sherlock was swept into John's arms._

_"I wish I could find you. I have tried, night after night..." John whispered, clutching Sherlock tightly to him._

_"I know... I have felt you close... However he keeps moving. He knows you will not rest... John... I..." Sherlock pulled away, as if he intended to leave._

_"What has happened, anything you have done is the fault of the herb and not yours. There is rumor he is going to have our marriage annulled." John whispered as he stepped back towards his love._

_"He is and he intends to have a wedding for us soon. He will invite my brother."_

_"I cannot..."_

_"I would not expect you to." They stood still in the wavering dreamscape, staring at each other and both desperately wishing they could touch the physical form of their lover. "If you wish to... Find another..." Sherlock began; John however quickly cut him off._

_"I shall never give up on our bond." He swore, stepping so close their bodies were barely a breath apart. "You are my match."_

_"As you are mine," Sherlock's voice was a shaking whisper as he looked down at his love, guilt in his eyes._

_"Sherlock please do not feel guilty, this was nothing you could do." John whispered, his hands slowly moving up to touch his love. Sherlock gently cupped John’s cheek, his eyes swiftly observing every detail of the man before him._

_"My love, you look starved for affection... Have you not taken comfort from my brother?" Sherlock asked quietly._

_"I..." John looked ashamed. "No. I had conceded to take no lover until I found you."_

_"John, my beloved, it is my one solace to know that you are well cared for by my brother, by our lover. You must know what..." Sherlock's voice was pained and he looked away. John turned his face back._

_"I shall try, however I almost wished I had died than suffered like this without you." He forced out, his voice shaking._

_"God I was terrified I would never see you again, even like this." Sherlock confessed softly. "You live. God you live." He repeated over and over, before their mouths came together. The kiss lasted for what felt like ages before they broke apart._

_"This feels so real..." John whispered against Sherlock's lips._

_"Our minds make it real. I wish I was at your side." He pressed their foreheads together and his arms tightened around John._

_"As do I, however I would take this every day for eternity over the silence I have endured."_

_"I wish that it could be so, however..." Disappointment tinged his voice and John kissed him to take it away._

_"Knowing you still love me somewhere inside your heart is all I need. It shall sustain me." He promised._

_They sank down onto the grass, their mouths hardly parting as they tried to show each other just how much they had feared the death of their lover; just how much they desperately missed each other; and yet they fought to hide the deep pain and guilt they both felt. Sherlock easily took control, the helplessness he felt when awake making him desperate for some sort of control, as he undid John's shirt. He touched every part of him he could reach, moaning into his mouth as their lips continued to move together. Taking his time, Sherlock caressed every inch of John's body until he was unclothed and warm against him. John helped Sherlock free of his own clothing before crushing their mouths back together._

_"Oh my love... I miss you." Sherlock whispered, reaching down and pushing two fingers into John. John shouted and arched, clawing into the ground._

_"Sherlock! I need you. I have to find you." He chanted, gasping even as he pushed down on Sherlock's fingers._

_"You will. Our hearts will lead us back to each other." He promised before pushing himself into his love._

_Their bodies united once more, even if only in their dreams, the two of them did not last long. The heat coiled between them until they both cried out and tears began to fall. They clutched at each other, kissing each other as much as possible as they continued whispering soft words of comfort. Time however would not wait and soon enough Sherlock began to fade._

_"Until we meet again... I love you." He whispered._

                John gasped and sat straight up. Dawn was creeping into the world and he felt he had not slept at all. His heart pounding in his chest and his body aching for the release his mind had given him. He tried to ignore the desire of his body but was unable to, the feel of Sherlock against him coming to his mind. He stroked himself quickly, gasping as he did and then shouting as he released. His entire body shivering as he sobbed into his pillows. He continued sobbing until he collapsed into a terribly exhausted sleep. His rest was plagued by nightmares and after a particularly detailed one in which he again lost Sherlock he woke with a shout so loud it echoed throughout the house. The tears again streamed down his cheeks, his entire body shaking. He sobbed and clawed at himself until he felt the hands of his Sire pulling him into a tight embrace. He struggled and fought anew, trying to make his body feel the pain his heart could no longer bear - however Mycroft held him firmly in his arms. He knew this pain was destroying his fledgling, not that John had sought any relief from him; however he promised both Sherlock and himself that he would endure this torment and protect his mender. The sobs continued for awhile before diminishing and leaving a shivering, weakened mender clinging to his chest. Mycroft sighed softly, able to tell what had happened just from John's reactions.

                                "John, please dry these tears they will do naught but harm you further." Mycroft whispered as he felt the mender finally relax. "He connected with you, did he not?" He ran his fingers through John's hair, sighing softly.

                                "Y-yes." John forced out, burying his face against Mycroft's chest. "It is like losing him all over again." He whispered.

                                "Hush, I know my love. I know." Mycroft fought his own pain. John looked up at him and cupped his cheek, deep guilt in his eyes.

                                "You have hidden your heart for sake of mine." He whispered weakly. "Do not. Let me know you grieve with me. I shall take solace in knowing that you are still beside me even in this darkness." He barely breathed the words as their mouths met in a kiss that was full of sorrow. Tears fell down both their cheeks as their mouths continued to move together for some time. When Mycroft pulled away he was trembling for breath.

                                “John… I am so sorry… I should have forced you two to come with me. I could have protected you.” Mycroft whispered as the silence fell around them.

                                “I should have listened. You have never steered us wrong, Sherlock simply wanted to enjoy what was the anniversary of my coming into this life. He will take our life from him. His memories, his heart, all of it shall disappear under the weight of the herbs. It was intentional wasn’t it? What did you see in my memories? What happened when I was rescued?” The mender demanded of his Sire, clutching him and staring in his eyes.

                                “Do not ask me that, my mender. I cannot be the one to injure your heart so.” Mycroft whispered in reply, trying to look away.

                                “Do not hide it, for there is nothing that can destroy me more than losing our beloved already has. Tell me Mycroft. Tell me at once.” John held himself firm as Mycroft recounted what he had seen from John’s memories, what he had observed from John’s body when he was given over from Sebastian, and what he feared had happened. John let out a soft sob, his body shuddering but he did not pull away. “So it is true. Sebastian’s determination to learn about the herbs was simply to gain power over us. I handed Sherlock over to them on a platter.” John’s voice was wretched and it made Mycroft ache.

                                “No my mender, you did no such thing.” The reply was so soft that John almost missed it. “You were swayed as Sebastian predicted. His family was kind to you even though you were told they were evil. It is no fault of yours that your knowledge was used against you. We will be able to create a remedy because of this. Once we find Sherlock we will be able to restore him.”

                Time began to move quickly for John, the days and nights blurring as he and Mycroft sought information on their lost lover. They grasped at every lead, no matter how improbable, until they were both exhausted and disheartened. The first decade passed quickly and brought with it a terrible blow to John’s heart – James had succeeded in convincing a vampire tribunal to annul Sherlock and John’s wedding and to allow James to marry Sherlock. The tribunal did not go as far as to blame John however, as no one truly believed James’ falsehoods that John had harmed Sherlock in any way, however they were unable to bring light to John’s version of events with Sherlock adamantly defending James. The wedding was drawing closer and closer and in the months before the wedding many events were thrown to celebrate. Mycroft, in effort to spare John’s heart as much as possible, turned down a myriad of invitations – however when the local Duchess issues an invitation to a masquerade ball she was throwing in honor of the couple the Holmes clan was unable to refuse. Mycroft pleaded with John to attend, nearly begging because he did not want to face the couple alone. John finally relented, though he was not pleased in doing so.

                When they arrived to the overly large affair, John stayed close to Mycroft, the two of them looking down from the balcony at the happy pair celebrating their impending nuptials. John’s body vibrated with his emotion as he tried not to think about how happy Sherlock had been when they were preparing their own wedding and instead focused on surveying the room. His attention was drawn back to Sherlock however when he paused and looked straight up at John without so much as an ounce of hesitation. The feel of Sherlock’s eyes on him nearly shattered the mender completely and it was only his dedication to his Sire that kept him rooted in place. Sherlock’s attention was returned to James for a moment, when the shorter man returned to his intended’s side and spoke softly to him. Sherlock however turned his attention back to the mender and began making his way towards the pair on the balcony. As John realized Sherlock’s intended path he hesitated before stealing away down the hall and to the outside. Sherlock arrived on the spot just a moment after John disappeared around the corner and frowned as his brother turned to address him.

                                “Hello brother mine.” Mycroft said with as much forced sentiment as he could afford.

                                “Brother! You came!” Sherlock exclaimed happily, moving a bit closer to his brother, though his eyes were on the exit.

                                “Of course I did. It’s a celebration for you.” Mycroft said gently, his intention not masked.

                                “Who was that man who was with you?”

                                “No one of import to you, brother mine – where is your intended?” He forced a smile as James came to rest beside Sherlock.

                                “There you are love; I wondered where you had wandered to. I see now it was with good reason. Lord Holmes, it is as always a pleasure. You have refused so many of my invitations lately, I was beginning to think I had wronged you somehow. I am pleased to see you accepted this one.”

                                “My apologies Lord Moriarty, I have had much business to attend to and a gravely sorrowed coven to care for.” Mycroft’s tone was curt Sherlock looked at him with a furrowed brow, pulling his mask up to see his brother better. Mycroft looked away and when he looked back it was to find that James had already escorted Sherlock away.

                Mycroft retreated more deeply onto the balcony, sighing softly as the shadow enveloped him and allowed his heart to slow. He understood now why John had vanished and though he wished to immediately console his mender he resolved to remain awhile longer and see if he could convince his brother to visit their manor sometime soon. All other attempts to free Sherlock from James’ side for even a moment had failed and he hoped that the impending wedding would provide an excuse. Mycroft sighed as the night wore on and it became clear that James would not let Sherlock out of his sight, keeping the man within arm’s reach at every turn. Shaking his head in defeat Mycroft turned to leave only to find himself freezing in place as a shiver of excitement crept up his spine and he began to feel a strange, tingling sensation in his chest. The sound of soft footsteps approaching him caused him to turn and looked over the man who stepped from the shadows.

                                “It will not do for someone with as much power and authority as you, Lord Holmes, to remain hidden in the shadows.” His voice drifted softly over Mycroft, causing the shiver to deepen. He regarded the newcomer with a look of interest; surely he had not met the man previously. He would have remembered someone so striking. The man wore an elegant dark suit from another age, his silver hair flashing in the low light of the room even as his eyes glowed vibrantly with pleasure, “It is an honor.” He bowed. Mycroft stood stock still for a long moment, trying to will the heat and eagerness in his body to a more tepid temperature as the man’s gaze met his own. He could feel a pulsing sensation in his chest, as if a string was being wound so tightly between himself and the other man. He finally forced himself to steady and held himself up as firmly as he could.

                                “I apologize, however I am afraid I do not recall making your acquaintance.” Mycroft muttered softly, glad his mask was covering his face. The man smirked, stepping a bit closer as he did. Mycroft could not keep his breath even as the sensations pulsed harder in his chest.

                                “I have not, as of yet, had the pleasure of actually making your acquaintance, Lord Holmes.” The man said in a voice that was rich and comforting to Mycroft’s injured heart and nerves. “I do however know of you and your clan. I am Vice Captain Gregory Lestrade, I am a member of Their Royal Highnesses’ Elite Military. I am specifically Vice Captain of the third unit of Lady Kyara’s forces.”  He said with a small incline of his head by way of greeting. Mycroft’s mind finally woke from its stalled state and he nodded.

                                “Ah a Hinadri,” Mycroft smiled softly, though his breath hesitated in his chest. “I have only met Her Highness Lady Fate previously. I am afraid I have never had the good fortune of meeting Lady Kyara. May I ask as to why you are here?” He kept his voice even, moving to lean on the railing and look out at the party continuing below. He tried to act casually though his mind was racing with the possibilities this man presented him.

                                “There are many reasons why I have been sent here. Though why I am here tonight is my own doing.” Gregory said softly as he walked over to lean on the railing beside Mycroft, his full attention focused on the man before him. “I have come to England on behalf of Their Royal Highnesses to inform you that we received your letters as well as letters from some of our affiliate covens here, explaining the situation that is before us. While the Tribunal’s ruling has silenced any action we might take in Sherlock’s stead, I can assist you and your coven through this difficult time. My Ladies also offer my services as a token of our faith that you will align with our clan and our missions.”  Greg smiled as he looked at Mycroft, their eyes locking for a moment. “I am here tonight as I wished to meet you.” He smiled even more broadly and Mycroft’s eyes locked with the other man’s gaze.

                                “That is kind of them and you to offer, however I do not know how you will provide any additional assistance.” Mycroft said tearing his eyes away. “I have little luck in consoling my fledgling and there is little else to do.” He looked down.

                                “And who consoles you?” Gregory asked curtly, though without malice. Mycroft’s eyes flickered back up towards him and he was glad again for the mask as his cheeks reddened.

                                “I am fine.” He replied automatically.

                                “You are not.” Gregory said softly, stepping even closer so their bodies were barely a breath apart. “You are a strong vampire, Mycroft Holmes, however you are a poor liar. Twice now you have run from me… From the pulsing you feel…” He whispered as he leaned forward. “I believe now is our time… Let me heal your heart.” He demanded. Mycroft’s eyes went wide.

                The pulsing in his chest grew stronger as time seemed to freeze around the two men. He remembered feeling this same sensation before, at a dinner gathering for a larger clan shortly after he was turned. He had fled, terrified of what it meant, only to find that almost a hundred years later he’d found that same sensation. The same pulsing that was pulling him closer to the other man instead of pushing him away. Just before their mouths would have met Mycroft regained some of his control and pulled back.

                                “Do you have a place to reside for the duration of your visit?” Mycroft asked before he could stop himself.

                                “I believe that shall be entirely up to you.” Greg whispered as he stepped closer to Mycroft.

                Just as Mycroft had time to wonder if Gregory did actually intend to kiss him, a sharp twinge of pain echoed through his chest. He tore off his mask, confusion lining his face as he glanced down at his chest. He pulled his shirt to the side, immediately believing he must have been attacked by Gregory, only to find no injury. Gregory moved to speak but knowing slowly coalesced on Mycroft’s face. A dark look flitted past his eyes before he turned on his heel. Gregory had just enough time to hear Mycroft whisper the word Mender before the man took off. Gregory followed, right on his heels as he did – not stopping until he almost collided with Mycroft just outside the gate to the Holmes’ clan manor. There caked with dirt and blood lay a man on the side of the road. He had what looked like several knife wounds in his sides, slowly healing. His arm was also broken, hanging off his body at a very odd angle.

                                “John!” Mycroft gasped, dashing over and slowly surveying the mender. “What happened?” He demanded as he tried to lift John.

                                “N-nothing.” John lied, looking away from Mycroft. He didn’t look at the other man either, he’d felt the emotion his Sire had been feeling before John’s pain had interrupted.

                                “It must have been some of Moriarty’s men,” Greg answered curtly, looking towards the shadows. “I saw him talking to them just before Sherlock came up to speak with you, Mycroft. It is no longer safe for us out here tonight; let us return to your manor.”

                                “W-who?” John asked weakly.

                                “He is a friend…” Mycroft provided as his only answer, though he blushed. John however saw what was happening in Mycroft’s eyes.

                It was a knife that dug deeply at John – though Mycroft did try to be gentle with the budding romance so as to ease the Mender’s heart. John was in a way, quite happy for his Sire, though it felt like a knife twisting into his soul at every pass. As Gregory and Mycroft grew closer, John grew more distant; behaviors which were not comforted by the quickly approaching wedding of Sherlock and James. As the date of the wedding drew closer John became more isolated and easily agitated. He refused to speak even with Mycroft, preferring instead to remain in the confines of the library. Gregory and Mycroft had formulated a plan in the hopes of convincing Sherlock not to go through with the wedding, however to perfectly succeed with the plan they needed John’s help. Something he had so far been quite reluctant to provide. The day before the wedding Mycroft stormed off towards the library, in the hopes of finding it occupied, and hoping his one last attempt to convince John would work.

                                “You are here.” Mycroft said in relief as he entered.

                                “Oh… Hello Mycroft.” John said hollowly. He nodded slightly to Gregory but did not verbally acknowledge his presence. Gregory frowned but understood Mycroft had not left his side for any length of time lately – which meant he had spared no time for John. John continued what he was doing, barely looking up at the men as they stepped further into the room.

                                “John, I implore you, please come with us tomorrow. We may be able to stop this wedding.” Mycroft’s voice was soft, pleading. “I know you do not feel there is much hope however Gregory’s plan…” He flinched when John sharply cut him off.

                                “I will not. There is nothing we can do and I will not force myself to suffer more than I already have.” He shouted, spinning to face the two men. He paled some when he saw that Gregory had his hand protectively on Mycroft’s back and turned back to his experiment, his body shivering slightly.

                                “John, you must come. You are our best…” Gregory spoke up, trying to see if the mender would accept anything from him. They had been close at first, however the closer Gregory and Mycroft became the more John turned away from them.

                                “I said no.” John growled angrily, his back going rigid. “I am not going and that is my final decision.” He growled softly.

                Mycroft looked down as guilt flooded him. He knew John was angry and hurt however he did not know how to comfort the mender. Every time he tried John simply spurned his advances or pushed him away. Gregory had been warm and accepting of John, trying to get him to become friendly with him as he grew closer to Mycroft; however John could not stomach it. His own childish jealousy devouring him from the inside as he fought to find some sort of peace as his world began to fall apart in even more terrible ways. When Gregory and Mycroft finally retreated from the room, leaving John to his solace - he could not stop the angry tears that came. He gripped the table and shook with silent sobs as he tried to contain the emotion that threatened to drown him. For two months now he’d began a spiral into darkness, becoming distant and quiet from the entire coven and as the wedding drew closer his mood turned faster. He waited until he heard Mycroft’s door close in the distance before throwing himself back on one of the couches in the room and forcing his eyes to fix on the ceiling as he sobbed until he passed to sleep.

                _The dream began much as it always did the same clearing and the same emptiness that threatened to swallow him whole. He wandered unstably through the clearing, towards some trees in the hopes of disappearing into the forest beyond, but paused when he heard someone speaking._

                                _"This place again. I swear it is familiar yet strange." Sherlock's voice whispered softly. John stood there, fighting the tears he knew were on his cheeks. He could not understand why his mind and body were tormenting him so. First he’d suffered Mycroft’s distance, then his continued insistence that John attend Sherlock and James’ wedding, and now this? Another tormenting dream where Sherlock no longer remembered John or anything about their lives together, another aching moment of seeing Sherlock look at him with an entirely too blank stare and the memory of how his heart had been ripped from his chest? It was as if the world was against him and out to punish him for some transgression he could not remember having made. He shook violently as he tried to convince himself to wake but the exhaustion of his body and his desperation to see Sherlock even if he didn’t remember him were too much. Sherlock fell silent as he continued to observe the surrounding, trying to place the location in his mind. He knew he never forgot anything, so if it was familiar it must be in his mind somewhere. He was however concerned that a place that felt as important as this one could come into his mind and yet seemingly have no home. It was only then that he realized there was someone with him and he turned at the sound of gentle footsteps approaching him._

_"I mean you no harm." John whispered, his voice shaking. His eyes not masking his pain as he tried, vainly, to keep his voice even._

_"Do I know you?" Sherlock’s soft reply echoed gently as he stepped forward hesitantly. "I feel I do. It is almost as if I have seen you in a dream." He continued closer, noting how John tensed and shivered with each step, his fingers frozen as he reached out two to touch John and see if he was real._

_"I am no dream.” John replied quietly, the sorrow in his heart refusing to remain restrained and seemed to swirl around them like a tormented breeze. He looked away, his entire being trembling with the emotion he was unable to restrain. Sherlock simply narrowed his eyes and stepped even closer as he observed every detail about the man before him, trying vainly to place him in his mind._

_“Then who are you? Why can I not find you in my memory?” He asked in a soft voice._

_“I am… I was one of your greatest friends. The memory of which was stripped from you and no longer matters.” John whispered dismissively._

_"This hurts you so.” He muttered as he continued his approach, almost as if John was a timid creature that would dash away at any moment. “And yet you look at me with such love... Please, who are you?" Sherlock reached out and touched John's cheek, sighing softly as he did. He looked confused as he felt John’s body respond to the touch. "This feels right... Touching you like this… Yet it feels so different than when my James touches me." He mused softly his confusion deepening as John flinched, his body shuddering as a sob fought to break free. John recoiled and Sherlock pressed forward, putting his hand back on John’s cheek. Almost as if to keep John rooted in place until he got his answers._

_"He has lied to you." Was all the mender could force out before it became too much. He sank to his knees as his body began to collapse under the weight of his grief. Watching Sherlock's knowledge of him disappear from his eyes over the years had broken something deep inside of the mender, leaving him hollow and aching. Sherlock felt guilt and pain well up in his heart and he sank down beside the sobbing man as if he would perish if he did not. His hand slowly slid up to the man’s shoulder as he tried to whisper words of comfort, as he struggled to find something he could say that would make those horrible heart-wrenching tears stop. Something in his heart shivered and trembled when John looked up at him, his eyes so full of pain, love, and adoration. He felt himself shiver as John’s gaze locked with his, their mouths only a breath apart. They were searching each other for secrets that lay deep beneath the surface of the masks they currently wore and slowly they began to fade._

_Sherlock felt the powerful draw to kiss the man before him though he knew that he was, at least according to his intended, the property of someone else. The drive to unite his lips with the man’s before him was overwhelming, so much so that though he was to be wed the following night, he gave in and pressed their mouths together as if he’d never done so before. He gave himself over to the moment, allowing the dream to guide him as his and the others’ mouths met in a soft, tremulous kiss. John could not stop the soft groan that escaped him before his hands and his lips took over and he pulled Sherlock closer in a frenzy of passion. Suddenly realizing what he was doing he pulled away, both of them panting for breath as their eyes locked and they sat in a heavy silence. John watched as the kiss began to ignite trails inside Sherlock’s mind and he felt the rush of wind around them that signaled the return of Sherlock’s memories. He watched, horror struck, as Sherlock’s face transformed and the pain and guilt he felt doubled. Sherlock began to pant heavily, the grief of what was transpiring threatening to swallow him as his memories continued to sort themselves. He clutched John desperately as tears began to fall, silently pleading for forgiveness._

_"Oh John," He gasped, clawing his love. "How? How has he done this? How has he tormented you so? How can I live knowing I have hurt you this much?" He pleaded, his fingers going white as he clung to John’s shirt. John shuddered in fear and sorrow._

_"No! Do not dare say something such as that to me in this moment," John ordered. "I shall know if you harm yourself and I shall be the first to leave this world behind you." He promised, both of them trembling as they clung desperately to each other, John’s hands finding purchase in Sherlock’s shirt. His grip was strong and firm, desperate – as if trying to pull Sherlock from the dream and into the world._

_"How can I not say something such as that? How can I stay happy when I can see how this has destroyed you? You are broken, a shell of who you were, all because of me. The pain I have caused you..." Sherlock’s voice cracked and John forced their mouths together again._

_"I will not give up Sherlock. I cannot! You are everything to me. I will find you!" He swore, wrapping his arms almost painfully around Sherlock's back. Sherlock leaned his head on John’s shoulder, shaking as he did his breath warm and heavy with tears._

_"I shall never truly lose faith in that, my love, however... If love finds you before you find me, do not deny it. Please John. I want you safe and happy."_

_"I shall be when you are returned to where you belong." Sherlock leaned down and claimed John's mouth in a fiery kiss, pressing him back against the ground. "God this feels as if it were real." He muttered before claiming John's mouth again. “I had forgotten how powerful our bond was. Forgotten what it was like to be bonded with someone so closely…” He whispered against John’s lips._

_"Sh... Sherlock." John forced out, trying to grab a hold of his love in a way that would never allow them to separate._

_"No. No more words.” Sherlock ordered as he continued to push John down. “We have precious little time left and even if it is only in our minds I must feel you. I want to feel you before he strikes the blow to my heart that I am sure will break it. My memory may not be my own again, even here… In our dreams..." Sherlock's reply was faint as he pressed their mouths back together._

_The scene shifted as Sherlock’s mind carefully altered their shared reality in tune with the desires of the dreamers. Suddenly they were in their room, the one that John did not dare to enter for fear of the sorrow he would find. Sherlock pushed John back against the pillows, clawing the clothing off his lover like their presence was offending him. Their mouths and bodies slamming together in hurried, frenzied passion. Sherlock was determined to make this something that would bolster his love, something that would stop John from ever looking so broken again._

_"Burn this into your mind.” He ordered darkly. “Carry it so it can never be lost. For when this moment is over I am going to lock away my memories in such a way he cannot strip them from me ever again. Promise me John, that you shall never ever forget I love you." He begged, tears falling as they continued to kiss._

_"Please Sherlock... Don’t let this be the end… I have to find you. I am dead inside." John whispered, clinging to his love._

_"As am I," John cried out as Sherlock pushed himself inside his love, claiming him just as he had so many of the nights they had shared in the waking realm. It felt so real to John, he felt as if this moment were truth and not just a figment of their minds. He tried to fight the sensations, not willing to give into so much pleasure and passion only to face so much pain – Sherlock however refused to relent. So finally he gave into the sensations, allowing himself to float carelessly into the feelings rolling through him as his lover claimed him with such desperate intensity. Their mouths hardly breaking apart save for breath and their bodies moving in perfect sync with each other. The passion that burned between them was white hot and the frenzy of their emotion meant the moment was over far too soon. Sherlock thrust hard into his love, claiming his mouth as John shouted and tumbled over the edge. Sherlock desperate to claim the sound of his name on his lovers lips, as if that would give him what he needed to survive – even as he felt something calling his mind back to the realm of the waking. John realized what was happening and was too broken to stop his emotion, clinging to Sherlock as a fresh wave of tears broke free._

_"Please Sherlock… Please do not go..." He begged and Sherlock felt his heart crack wider. Such a strong man pleading so brokenly for what he knew could not be meant that Sherlock felt the guilt in his own heart grow deeper._

_"My love, we both know I cannot stay. No matter how hard I try my mind will go back to the control..." He whispered brokenly, trying to keep kissing John._

_"Please," John’s voice was barely audible over his tears. His hand slipping up into those raven locks - even as the images began to blur._

_"I love you John. Never forget..." Sherlock’s voice echoed softly as his image faded, leaving John alone in the dream._

_"I love you..." John whispered._

                When John woke it was with a wail of grief that made the blood of every member of the coven run cold, a wail so full of pain that Gregory did not even try to accompany Mycroft when he tore himself from bed and dashed across the house. Mycroft grabbed John’s hands just as he began to tear at himself and his clothing, stopping him from harming himself and holding him as he fought, as he had done so many nights since Sherlock’s capture. John collapsed back on the bed, tears still falling even as his exhaustion began to settle in – his expression broken open as he looked pitifully up at his Sire and pleaded silently for the pain to be over. Mycroft knew what had happened, he could feel the lingering energy of the connection and he knew the pain that John must be feeling. He knew how little Sherlock remembered of their life together for, after promising James that he would not mention John in the slightest, he’d been granted permission to see his brother. There he learned that Sherlock’s memories were no longer his own and instead were the lies that Moriarty had planted in his mind. His own guilt blossomed as he watched John slowly crumble into an exhausted sleep. He did not know how to free either of his lovers from this pain, how to end the separation that was slowly causing the mender to harden and forcing the ties that once were so strong, to wither away to dust.

                The morning of the wedding came and with John still refusing to attend, Mycroft was forced to leave his grief stricken mender at home and attend the ceremony with a pretend sentiment in his heart. While Mycroft and Gregory were pretending to be happy for Sherlock and attempting to find an opening to get him away from James, John quietly packed a bag and left the coven house leaving behind only a simple note.

***

                Sherlock sighed softly was he pushed open the doors to the shaded balcony. The sea was just beyond and he enjoyed the view immensely. He smiled when James entered the room, but frowned when James gave him a strange look. It had been ten years since their wedding and they’d already moved twice. Sherlock walked closer to James, reaching for his hand and flinching when James hissed at him. James for his part was enraged. The herb had taken away Sherlock’s spark. It rendered the man’s mind slow and made him miss details. James no longer cherished his possession and instead kept it only to continue to see John suffer. He grew tired of trying to keep Sherlock under his power and had resolved to take himself away from Sherlock as often as possible.

                                “Why do you shy away from me?” Sherlock demanded angrily as he came closer to James. “I am your husband.”

                                “I know you are my love,” James chided gently, taking Sherlock’s hand and walking him over to a sofa by the door. He pulled Sherlock down, kissing him gently. “However my love, I am afraid I must leave for business – thus I do not feel I deserve your touch.”

                                “Away again? Why must you always leave?” He demanded petulantly.

                                “I must keep making money so you may continue to practice your ridiculous experiments.” He chided again.

                                “James?” A man’s voice called. James couldn’t stop his predatory grin as the younger Sebastian stepped into the room.

                                “Coming Sebby.” He lilted. He got up and kissing Sherlock’s head like a child, he stroll from the room.

***

                John tried in vain to seek solace in his search, staying close to Sherlock and Moriarty for a few years as he tried to find his beloved. Eventually however he gave up and turned to other locales to try to push his sentiment aside. He traveled to Summer, the city of the Solvanaar and tried to distract himself. He setup a small shop where he sold potions and herbs to the travelers who came and went, making only enough money to buy his products and rent a room in the inn. A few years went by with a few short letters finding their way to his Sire but no real contact had between the wounded mender and his coven.  One morning as John was closing down his shop he looked up at the sound of his name, smiling as a woman with brown hair came to a stop just outside the door.

                                “Anna, it is good to see you are well.” He said as firmly as he could. She could see the shadow in his eyes.

                                “I am deeply grieved to know that you are not.” She replied gently, stepping inside. “I come alone if that is your concern. My father is away and I had heard of an apocathary of incredible skill, which I knew could only be you.”

                                “I am happy for your visit.” He motioned for her to join him and they passed several hours simply chatting.

                                “I must return to the Coven house. Be safe.” She whispered, hugging him before she left.

                John smiled, though it did not reach his eyes, and continued about his daily routine. Another six months passed seemingly in the blink of an eye and John felt weary from it all. He was sitting in the bar below the inn, drinking some bloodwine when one of the scouts from Sebastian’s clan came through the door like a storm. He rushed over to John, grabbing him by the arm and dropping to his knees in supplication.

                                “Please Mender, please! Our Anna has become ill; will you please come to her?” The man pleaded his voice cracking. “Our Master is away, please she needs you!” John stood, hesitating for a moment before his own empathy got the better of him.

                                “Fine, go outside.” He mumbled, not wanting the man there while he took care of his things. He spoke with the bartender and made sure all of his items would be securely stored. The man was a Solvanaar vampire, and a trustworthy one at that. John then penned a short letter to his Sire explaining his situation before retrieving his items and joining the man outside. “Take me to her.” He ordered darkly, his face set in grim determination.

                The man led John to the coven house, taking him in a back door and up a hidden staircase. When they entered the room John saw Anna writhing in pain on her bed. He dashed over to her, taking her hand and beginning to search his kit for something to help her. He worked quickly and within a few moments she began to calm, her breathing slowing. However as soon as he eyes beheld him she paled with fear.

                                “No!” She shouted loudly. “It’s a trap! Flee John!” She ordered, but it was too late.

                Sebastian laughed as he appeared behind the mender. John too distracted to stop him. He sank his teeth deep into John’s neck, holding him tightly as he struggled. He drank eagerly and before long John went limp in his arms. He growled at Anna, motioning to the man that had brought John to them.

                                “As promised, take your reward from her.” He ordered darkly, stepping from the room with the pliant mender in his arms. “You’re mine now, mender.” He purred darkly. He took the mender to a room deep under the house, hidden from all but the eldest members of the coven. There a small room with a bed was setup. He lay John on the bed and wrapped his wrists in several layers of thin material before donning gloves. He then fastened heavy silver cuffs over the cloth, watching as John instantly grew limper. “I shall never let you flee me again. You’re mine, John… Like you should have been so long ago,” He whispered, kissing John roughly and laughing at the tormented moan that he got in return.


	10. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *creeps in timidly and wave* Hi! I am SO, SO sorry this chapter has taken 100 years to come out. I had this great plan of writing a little each day and the world just sort of slapped me and said no. But, I have not and WILL NOT abandon this story! 
> 
> The writing bug has come back and I am hoping that it will stick around for a bit. 
> 
> Thank you, thank you, thank you!! All of you! For your kind words and constantly asking me when the next chapter would come out and to not abandon the story. Every time one of you wrote I was able to get a little more done on the story. I am going to try to get the next chapter out quickly, especially since it should be full of fluff and porn - but I make no promises. 
> 
> Don't give up on me! I'm still here planning and writing!

            Sherlock sighed softly as the carriage drove along, another residence abandoned and yet another move for ‘safety.’ James had long since stopped pretending to care what happened to his husband and Sherlock knew it was only a sense of foolish pride that made it so James refused to allow him to return to his coven. Their relationship was strained and Sherlock, having grown bored with his life, had begun experimenting; some of his experiments causing their residences to require their immediate vacancy and one particularly memorable experiment almost costing the life of the young Sebastian Moran, a deed which did not go unpunished. James was no longer cautious about hiding his romantic feelings or intentions for Moran and the small coven that James was building often talked about how Sherlock must be unworthy. Those words began to gnaw away at Sherlock until he became moody and distant, refusing to speak to anyone. When he did, he often proclaimed every detail about the person until they slunk away in a fit of shame - a habit which was quickly making him the enemy of James’ coven and on the brink of costing James everything. James had begun negotiating a truce with his Sire, Sebastian, especially once he discovered that Sebastian now had a pet of his own.

            Sherlock was often alone during this time and he found he preferred it that way, as he was haunted. Haunted by a man he could not place, a memory that refused to settle, and a name that gnawed at his soul to be discovered. For years now Sherlock had been plagued by horrible nightmares of a sandy haired man being tortured, raped, and beaten. Sometimes he witnessed the events themselves and others only the aftermath – a broken man sobbing for some past he felt was lost for good. Sherlock had tried on many occasions to speak to the man in his dream, feeling certain that he was real, only to find it made the man break. There was a growing ache in Sherlock’s soul and he knew this man was the key. He looked up as the forest finally gave way to a large, old stone manor. It felt vaguely familiar, like something from a story he’d heard as a child, yet he knew he had never visited it. James perked up from beside him, grasping Moran’s hand with a smile.

            Inside the manor Sebastian Moran the elder was grinning predatorily at the sandy haired, beaten and broken vampire currently bent over the main dining room table. Other members of Sebastian’s coven were trying their best to ignore the suffering of the mender, their hearts aching for someone so dear to so many of them, but knowing they could not defy their leader. John could barely grip the table, the silver cuffs around his wrists and his neck forcing what little strength he had left to be restrained. He’d lost track of the days, weeks, and months that he’d been weathering whatever sick torture Sebastian dreamed up. His body used and broken in so many ways that he’d begun to give up, to lose hope that he would ever be happy again. He screamed as Sebastian rammed his erection inside his body with no preparation, forcing himself into silence as Sebastian whispered to him about how he would always belong to the older vampire and how he was his pet to be used. Sebastian used him, quickly and without concern for his feeling, until he found his own completion. He then stepped back, adjusting his clothing as if nothing happened and watched as the mender collapsed to the floor – blood and seed dripping from his abused body. Sebastian laughed darkly, kicking John hard in the ribs and laughing more when he cried out in pain, before looking up as a knock sounded on the door.

                        “My lord,” Sebastian’s youngest daughter Meaghan spoke from the doorway. “Someone to see you,” She bowed as she motioned for James and his group to enter. A wicked smirk forming on Sebastian’s face as they did.

                        “And so the traitor and his pets return home, begging for safety.” Sebastian growled as he stepped forward, dragging a short chain around John’s neck until the man shakily crawled after him.

                        “We must, for our own wish to harm us.” James said quietly, bowing his head but smirking at the state of the mender before him. Sherlock frowned, looking down at the beaten man and beginning to feel something pulsing in his chest. The man shuddered violently and Sherlock was sure tears were falling.

                        “Sher…” John muttered, trying to lift his head.

                        “You will be quiet!” Sebastian growled, kicking John hard in the stomach and then bringing his boot down on John’s back until he slammed into the floor. “And you bring them with you.” He growled again, motioning between Moran and Sherlock.

                        “It is my fault the coven wishes to harm us.” Sherlock said quietly, his lines clearly practiced. “So it is my fault we seek asylum.”

                        “I have betrayed you and I beg forgiveness.” Moran said softly, his lines more his own but still clearly contrived.

            John tried to get up, struggling as he heard Sherlock’s voice. Was he dreaming? Was this another nightmare? Every time he tried to push up, Sebastian pushed him back down. Eventually Sebastian had, had enough – he yanked the mender up and pierced his shoulder, drinking him until the man was on the verge of death. He threw John so his body slammed hard into the wall and he cried out again in pain.

                        “Meaghan, take that dog to its room. He is to have only the minimum amount of blood. I want him cleaned and ready for my return.” He growled at his daughter. She bowed and taking the chain in her hand roughly led John from sight. Sherlock turned to watch but a soft growl from James made him return his attention to the room.

            Just out of sight Meaghan helped John stand and gently carried him to a room in one of the towers. She helped him into the bed, a deep worried frown on her face as she looked at him. He was crying, only this time she could not help the tears of her own that joined his. He had suffered so much violence since he had been captured and what small solace she could provide him when out of her father’s sight could do nothing to salve the wound he was experiencing now. She let him have his grief, not speaking as she carefully tended to him in what ways she could without them giving away their secret to her father. After some time she knelt down beside him and took his hand in her own.

                        “John… Our mender…” She whispered sadly.

                        “Do not… I do not deserve…” He whispered in a broken voice.

                        “You do. I believe now I see a way to free you both.” She looked up towards the door before speaking again. “Our original plan, do you recall it?”

                        “Y-yes…  The… Gathering,” He forced out.

                        “I shall find a way to include Sherlock. Rumor has preceded them that their relationship is now strained. It may be enough so that we may convince him to come away with you.” She seemed eager and excited however John was far too broken to find any hope.

                        “He…” John grunted as his strength ebbed and he collapsed against the bed.

                        “I saw it,” She whispered to the now sleeping mender. “I saw the spark in his eyes. If I can give my life to free you I shall… Soon…” She whispered before disappearing from the room.

                        “We are safe here, Sherlock. Do NOT do anything to compromise it!” James screamed at the taller man, his eyes dark and dangerous. “If you have a thought in your mind of approaching anyone here dismiss it at once! You will remain in this room unless I send for you. Do not ruin this, or else I shall destroy you.” He turned on his heel and marched from their room, Moran at his side.

            In the darkness of the manor time passed without much marking. Days became weeks which became months. Sherlock watched with a growing hatred in his chest, as every evening John was led down to the main room where Sebastian would begin by forcing John to use his body to provide Sebastian pleasure. Often while the most powerful of the coven sat by and tried their best to ignore what was happening. He would often call attention to his actions, humiliating the mender as he used him in whatever method pleased him that day. As each of these moments came to pass hatred grew in Sherlock’s heart, along with a possessive jealousy that he had not expected. It did not take him long to realize the man that haunted his dreams was this broken pet that Sebastian tormented. Nor did it take him long to decide that he would free the man, take him home to his coven, and keep him as his own. Shortly after their arrival Sherlock learned where John was kept, though he had yet to find an opportunity to be with the man on his own. He knew today however that would change.

                        “My Lord,” Meaghan spoke softly from the door. “The carriage is prepared for you and Lord Moriarty to travel to Summer. Word has arrived that your envoy is there.” She bowed. Sebastian stood, shoving himself a few more times into John’s body before finding his release and letting the mender collapse on the floor. John trembled, staying still as he did.

                        “Very well, summon James and let us be on our way. Then clean up this mess.” He growled as he swept away to prepare himself.

                        “Sherlock, Moran and I shall be away for several days – do you think you can behave yourself for that long?” James growled.

                        “I am not a child.” Sherlock snapped in response, his eyes dark.

                        “So you say.” The retort was short and clipped.

                        “One foot out of line and I will end you.” Moran growled as a promise before the two swept from the room.

                        “Keep him in his room; do not let him recover much.” Sebastian ordered conversationally as he stood with his daughter at the door. “He is not to have too much blood while I am gone; however I want him fully healed when I return.”

                        “Yes father.”

                        “If only our Anna had been so obedient.” He sighed before gently touching Meaghan’s cheek. Sherlock watched from beside James as a dark shadow flitted through her eyes before turning to look on as the group left. “We shall return in three days.”

            Once they were gone Meaghan took John to his room and tended to him as she always did, however as she did when her father was away she gave him a bit more blood than normal. She stayed with him until dayfall, when she retreated to her own room. John sank down on the bed, scrubbing his hand over his face. Five years Sherlock had been here, five years he’d been within reach and yet further than ever. John stood and walked over to the window, nearly shouting when arms wrapped around him from behind. A hand pressed over his mouth and in the dim daylight that filtered into the room he looked up at the silver eyes looking back at him, his body trembling involuntarily as the grief of seeing those eyes looking so blankly at him devoured his heart.

                        “If you will not be quiet I will make you quiet.” Sherlock hissed softly, his voice against John’s ear.

                        “You should not…” John began.

                        “I do as I wish.” He growled in response, pushing John harder into the wall. “Who are you?

                        “No one,” He forced out as he looked down.

                        “Do not lie to me! You are someone I know…” Sherlock groaned being this close to the man was making him ache to touch him, to taste him, to possess him. He growled and John shuddered, almost letting his instincts take over before stopping himself. He would not suffer heartbreak again.

                        “Sherlock…” John’s voice cracked and Sherlock shuddered.

                        “You know me…” He purred, leaning in. “I will find out your secrets. I am going to free you. You will come home with me to my coven and my brother and I shall protect you.” He said urgently, frowning when tears began to line John’s eyes. “What is it?”

                        “It is nothing.” He whispered, struggling to try to get free. He froze when Sherlock’s lips were suddenly on his, their bodies pressed so tightly together as Sherlock took what he felt was his. John was gasping, trying to struggle away as his grief overwhelmed him and tears began to flow. Sherlock however refused to let up, kissing John until there was no breath left in his body.

                        “This feels…” Sherlock began but a loud knock on the door cut through his speech. He growled and vanished, leaving John in a vacuum of grief. John collapsed in tears just as Meaghan entered.

                        “John?!” She exclaimed before coming to his side. He could not speak and for a long time she simply sat there, holding him as he shook.

                        “I am fine.” He finally replied, pushing himself up. He was trembling and she sighed.

                        “I have received word from the others that the coven gathering is to be moved closer. Father has sent one of his guards back to inform me to prepare his things for the trip. That will give us two months to build up the herb in your blood enough that no one shall know but us.” She whispered quietly. She looked up as she heard a noise outside the window and frowned. “Rest now, I shall return tomorrow at nightfall.” She whispered.

            When she left the room and entered the hallway a hand clamped over her mouth and she was shoved back into the wall of the dark hallway. She was surprised when she looked up to see Sherlock glaring down at her, possessiveness shining in his eyes. When he was sure she would remain quiet he slowly removed his hand, glancing quickly towards the stairs before back to her.

                        “Whose side are you on?” He demanded darkly, digging his nails into the stones behind her head.

                        “The menders,” She replied firmly, not letting Sherlock intimidate her. “As I have always been since he saved the lives of my family.”

                        “What is this plan you spoke of? Why does he look at me as if he knows me?”

                        “I cannot and will not speak of his mind or heart.” She replied curtly, glaring at him. “Our plan is our own. If you can convince him to allow me to tell you, then perhaps I shall. However I shall tell you nothing otherwise.” She vanished suddenly and he growled before turning to look at the door that hid away the man he desperately wanted for his own. He moved over to it, pulling the door open just enough to slip inside.

            John was shivering as he lay on the bed. Meaghan had removed the silver for the moment, allowing him some peace to rest, yet his strength was still too low to properly escape. He was tormented by the thought of Sherlock not knowing his heart and yet the thought of leaving without taking his beloved with him was a knife he could not bear. As his thoughts raced he became so focused on his internal ramblings that he did not hear Sherlock’s entrance, in fact he knew nothing of his company until Sherlock was suddenly over him. John’s breath caught in his chest as he met Sherlock’s eyes, the possessiveness sparkling in them sending a shiver through his weakened body.

                        “You know me.” Sherlock whispered as he hovered over John’s naked torso. He groaned deeply. “And I have known you.” He looked up, meeting John’s gaze and growling. “You’re mine. I shall take you home and heal you. I will learn your secrets.”

                        “Sherlock, please…” John whispered, trying to make the other leave. He couldn’t bear this. Hearing those words without the magnitude of feeling that should have been behind them was gravely painful. “You cannot.”

                        “I can and I shall.” Sherlock kissed him, hard, their bodies coming together with force as he claimed John’s mouth over and over again. John could not stop himself from wrapping his arms around Sherlock, groaning as his actions only spurred the other on. “I will erase every hateful thing he has done to you.” He promised his tone softer and more like John remembered. Sherlock’s kisses softened and he continued to hold dominance over the mender until he felt the mender’s arms go slack. He stood, sighing softly as he regarded the wounded man. He would find a way to flee this place and make this man his own. He tore from the room, returning to his own and set himself to brooding away some plan to escape.

            At nightfall the following night, Meaghan arrived to tend to John. She was surprised when she found him sitting up in the bed, his back to the wall, and his hands tightly gripped in his hair. She tilted her head slightly moving closer to him and helping him drink a small amount of blood wine. She waited for a time, until she realized he wasn’t going to speak without prompting, sighing as she watched how he held himself.

                        “John?” She said quietly, waiting for him to raise his gaze. “Sherlock wishes to know our…” She stopped when the door opened and Sherlock slipped inside, his gaze focused on both of them.

                        “You are plotting to escape and I wish to know the details immediately. I have a strong coven; we can return there and find safety.” He frowned as he watched pain spike through John’s eyes and then felt his own pain when John refused to meet his gaze.

                        “Tell him.” John whispered to Meaghan.

                        “How can we be sure…” She began again.

                        “We cannot. Tell him anyway.” John looked up and out into the room, still refusing to look in the direction of his love. Meaghan watched John in silence for a long moment before turning to look at Sherlock with a frown.

                        “If you betray him, I will find a way to repay you.” She growled with promise. “We are working on a plan to incapacitate my father. The only way to do so is through poisons of the blood. John is an expert in herbs and potions of our kind and together we have created a blend of herbs and blood wine that arouses the person ingesting them while subsequently weakening the person’s strength. John has been taking minute amounts of the herbs in blood wine for several years now to begin to build up a tolerance to the weakening side effects. However we are certain that the amount required to be in his blood when my father returns, will leave him incapable of escaping on his own. As such I am to flee here with him and ensure his safety until we return to London.” Sherlock frowned in confusion but said nothing for a long time.

                        “I have an herbal wine I use when I need to distract my husband,” John could not repress a small noise of pain and Sherlock felt guilt curling more insistently in his chest. “Inform me of when you begin to build up the amounts in his blood and I shall do the same. My coven is in London, I will take you there and you two shall be safe.” He promised.

            John began to shake and a loud series of noises downstairs prompted Meaghan to usher Sherlock from the room. She quickly refastened the silver around John’s wrists and neck, finishing dressing him just as her father burst into the room. He smiled predatorily at the mender, enjoying how broken the man looked.

                        “You are dismissed.” He growled at his daughter, lunging forward to pin the mender. He growled as he inhaled the scent of another vampire. “Someone has touched what is mine.” He growled more darkly.

                        “N-no my Lord,” John forced out weakly. “I merely bumped into another vampire while on my allowed walk this evening. I apologize.” He kept his eyes down, shivering violently as he did.

                        “What nicety is this?” Sebastian growled as John so easily conceded to his whims. He smirked as he tore away the scraps of clothing John was allowed to wear. “If you think I shall go gently simply because you behaved, you are wrong.”

            James sighed as he entered his rooms and found Sherlock sitting, still as a statue, on the desk. He threw his cloak down, slowly beginning to undo his shirt as he waited for the nasty words that would come. He was surprised however when Sherlock did not speak, his eyes flitting over the other vampire with interest.

                        “What is this?” James asked quietly, his voice sounding eager as he came to rest in front of Sherlock. “No cruel words about how you wished I died in the sun on my return?”

                        “You are my husband; at least one of us should act like that. Do you not think so?” Sherlock said softly, but his tone held some anger still.

                        “Hmph, you really are a stubborn creature.” James purred. He leaned in to kiss Sherlock, surprised when Sherlock did not pull away. “We will be leaving again in a fortnight. The coven is meeting at the original coven house and there I shall secure my place anew within these walls. Behave until then at least?”

            Several days passed before Sebastian was content he had successfully removed whatever taint had been on the mender on his return. He returned to his usual methods, tormenting and taunting John while abusing him in front of the whole coven. John, for all anyone else could see, still looked broken and battered. He cried out in pain and allowed himself to express every ounce of sorrow he possessed, but Sherlock could see the glint in his eyes, the fire of purpose. And it made him burn. He had grown more restless since his last meeting with John, desperate to taste more of him, to have him all to himself. He found himself lurking near the room where the mender was kept, eager to claim him. John was a fire in Sherlock’s veins and he could not understand it. The herbs he had been given for so many years had easily stripped his mind of the memories, though he knew they were locked inside one of the many rooms in his mind. He didn’t know if he would be able to last a fortnight without taking John for himself.

                        “Sherlock!” Sebastian growled, as Sherlock walked passed the main room on his way to his chambers. “Come, have wine with us.” His smirk grew darker as a shudder ran through John. John was on his knees in front of Sebastian; his eyes almost rolled back in his head as Sebastian slowly drug a silver tipped knife over his skin. “Come now mender, you can do better than this.” He rumbled as he lazily shoved his hips up and his member down John’s throat. John grunted in pain.

                        “I have no desire to watch something like this.” Sherlock said conversationally as he stepped into the room, several of the other vampires looking up at him. “Only those who are scared of the pets they possess put on such vagrant displays.” A muscle in his jaw twitched as he watched Sebastian stop, John gasping for air and still bleeding from his wounds.

                        “And on whose authority do you have that?” Sebastian laughed.

                        “It is a historical fact, nothing more or less.” Sherlock sighed, rolling his eyes in boredom.

                        “You certainly are preoccupied with danger. It is a pity James does not care for his pets so well as I do.” He threw the knife, watching as it slid across Sherlock’s shoulder before clattering to the ground. Sherlock barely grunted in pain as the cut began to bleed, but he felt fire in his body again. Some of John’s blood had still be on the blade. He shivered violently before turning and rushing from the room to the sound of Sebastian’s laughter and John’s grunts of pain.

            All day Sherlock tossed and turned, his mind haunted by flashes of memory and snippets of conversation. He was utterly plagued by it and when he woke he shouted in surprise, finding James sitting beside him on the bed. James laughed lowly, his eyes dark as he surveyed his husband.

                        “You were mouthy with Sebastian.” James said simply, raising an eyebrow.

                        “I was and I shall not apologize for it.”

                        “Luckily for you, ‘darling,’ he found it funny. Sherlock, what have I done to deserve so much torment from you?” He sighed, sinking deeply into the role of a stressed husband. “Have I not provided you everything you have asked for?”

                        “No you have not! You refuse to let me go visit my home. I am not allowed to write to my brother without you seeing it. You keep me in a gilded cage!” He shouted, anger flaming in his eyes.

                        “Your brother took you from me once and I shall not let it happen again!” James growled, leaning forward. “You are mine!”

            The fight that ensued was loud enough every member of the coven heard it. Things were thrown and broken, glass shattering loudly as the two raged at each other. Sebastian laughed when John began to whimper as the sound of the fighting turned to sounds of passion. He forced John to crawl up the stairs and sit outside the door until he began to almost sob. He then, laughingly, took him to his shabby room and proceeded to break him down until almost nothing was left. John considered letting himself go over the edge into death, just letting go into the blissful darkness where the pain he was suffering would end. As he lay there, bleeding and broken for what had to be the millionth time, it seemed like such a wonderful thought. As he lay there, his will faltering, his mind took over and a memory began to play out. He felt both as if he was watching the scene and living it, as he lay there trembling. Sherlock standing before him and announcing to all of his family, their coven, and a mass of other attendees that he would always, for all eternity and beyond, love John. John tried to raise his arm to bat the memory away however his body was too heavy.

                        “Do not give up.” He heard a whisper; he tried to turn his head but could not move. “We will be free soon.” Sherlock hoped his mind was reaching the menders, he could feel how close to the edge he was. “Please John…”

            John sank into darkness and when he next knew anything of the world he was sitting up in the bed, being forced into some outfit by Meaghan. She hurriedly dressed him before returning the silver to his wrists and neck, standing up straight just as Sebastian entered. Sebastian smirked broadly.

                        “So you did remain with us.” Sebastian purred as he leaned down and kissed John roughly. “It is a shame you did not wake until now, when I am leaving. You are to remain in your room, do not leave this room for anything. Meaghan will bring you your daily blood allowance. If I smell one trace of another on you when I return, you will wish for death.”

            Sherlock watched dispassionately as James fussed about fixing the younger Sebastian’s shirt and cuffs, his eyes dulled from a week of abusing words and violent fights with James. James barely acknowledged Sherlock as Sebastian rejoined them, heading for the door without so much as a glance back as his husband. As soon as their carriage was out of sight Sherlock headed for John’s room, growling when he found nothing in the room to suggest John had even been there recently.

                        “He has been moved.” Meaghan said softly. “You cannot know where he is, you are just as susceptible as others to the blood wine. We are beginning today.”

            John was panting with effort, struggling as his mind fought against the ever building amount of herb in his blood. Thankfully Meaghan had seen fit to tie him down; otherwise he could not be sure what he would do. The physical effects were strong, making him dangerous even to Meaghan as she tried to tend to him. However, worse were the memories his mind provided him. Memories of all those times when Mycroft and Sherlock had helped him through the blood passion that came from the herbs. For almost two months John remained on the knife’s edge of desperation for death and an arousal so strong that his entire hallway was cordoned off from the coven. Meaghan worried that her father would not return in time and John might perish from the strain off it all, but just as her hope waned news of her father’s arrival came. When they arrived she was waiting at the door for them, something that Sebastian felt was not only suspicious but worrying. He took a moment to survey her and noted she looked worried and he frowned, knowing something was wrong with the mender.

                        “What is it, daughter?” He growled.

                        “Father, you must come with me to see the mender and quickly.” She said urgently. “He has been in a terrible state without you and has been begging for you for nearly a fortnight.”

                        “Begging for me?” Sebastian purred, perhaps John was finally giving in to the inevitable. He had hoped this absence would be enough to break the younger vampire. His smile grew as he purred with pride. “Good, take me to him.” He dropped his things there in the hallway as he stepped away with Meaghan.

                        “Where is my husband?” James asked one of the servants who was relieving him of his burdens, the younger Sebastian growling softly at the term.

                        “No one has seen him for several days, my lord. The noises from your room have concerned us.” James sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. No doubt Sherlock had been experimenting again. Why did he feel the need to keep such a pet? It was more work than pleasure. “Sherlock?!” James demanded as he opened the door, his anger bleeding off of him as he entered the room prepared for battle. He froze in the doorway however when he took in the sight that greeted him. Sherlock was wrapped only in his flimsy robe, a glass of bloodwine in his hand, and for all the world looking as desirable as James had seen him in decades.

                        “I had hoped you’d return today.” Sherlock smiled, it was the smile that made James’ burn to claw and bite him until it disappeared; the smile that said ‘I can tell everything you have done,’ the one that made James burn with hate and desire like nothing else. “You had a favorable trip, they provided you the answer you wanted and even offered you your own manor back in England.” He offered quietly, making James growl, His smirk never fading as he sipped his blood.

                        “How can you know that?” He stepped closer, already pulling of his jacket and undershirt. He would claim Sherlock and wipe that smirk off by making the other moan like a whore for release.

                        “I will never tell, it would ruin the game.” Sherlock said quietly, his smirk deepening. He licked his lips, James caught watching the red of the blood that swirled on the end of the others’ tongue with the motion.

                        “You are an infuriating beast, Sherlock.” James growled as he got even closer. “I will wipe that smirk from your face and make you whine like the whore you are.” His voice was darker still.

                        “Prove it.” Sherlock purred, offering James a glass of bloodwine. He watched as James drank it down, following it with two more gulping them down like a man starved. James wrenched Sherlock’s head down, a firm grip on his hair, and forced their mouths together. The kiss they shared was passionate and fervent, only breaking when James looked up as Moran entered.

                        “Oh…  My apologies,” Moran turned to leave. Sherlock leaned over and whispered something in James’ ear before nipping just the edge of it. James purred loudly and turned to Sherlock with a dark smirk.

                        “You do know how to make Daddy happy,” He purred softly before turning to Moran. “Come here.”

            Meaghan led Sebastian down into the dungeon, deeper than he expected. All the while Meaghan kept telling him that something strange had happened to the mender while he was away. She explained he had been possessed of arousal and desire for her father for almost the entirety of his absence, such that no one had been able to come near the mender without it addling their thoughts. Sebastian kept growling more and more pleased as she explained the situation to him. John was finally cracking, the distance having driven his mind over the edge. His thoughts were far from him, so he was taken by surprise when she opened the door, causing him to his in pleasure at the sight before him. John was completely naked. He looked healthy and strong, something Sebastian had denied him for years. His body gleamed with oil and his hands were covering every inch of skin they could. His body was flush with desire and it was clear to see he’d been this way for some time. Sebastian watched as John groaned his name, his hand working something deeper inside of his quivering hole. Sebastian groaned, realizing it was a smooth marble rod that Sebastian had designed to train the mender to take him on his whim. John groaned loudly, his hole clenching around the toy as he smelled and felt Sebastian. He looked up at him, the silver collar and cuffs gleaming against his tanned skin as his eyes locked on the older vampire.

                        “M-Master… P… Please.” John whimpered, the fire in his blood allowing him to give into what he knew would draw Sebastian in.

                        “Look at you.” He purred, stepping towards John.

                        “Please… I need you… I need it.” John whined, arching as arousal sparked through him.

                        “You are no better than a whore like this.” Sebastian growled darkly, leaning forward and watching the mender shudder as his energy washed over him.

                        “Father you should know, he has stolen the blood of two servants in your absence.” Meaghan said timidly.

                        “So you need punishment as well.” Sebastian growled. “Come and beg for what you want.” He commanded, laughing as John scrambled to obey.

            Meaghan retreated from the room and set to her tasks. She prepared the horses and ensured several sun blocking cloaks were ready in the entrance to where the horses waited. She returned to the hall and waited hours without a cease tormented by the noises coming from the room. John had implicitly told her what to wait for but she was growing impatient and worried. She did not like the noises the mender was making, nor the supposed pleasure he was drawing from this moment. Just as she was fixing her mind to rush into the room and claim John away from her father she heard a shout and wrenched the door open. Her father was against the wall, John’s blood on his lips. John was almost blank, his eyes rolled back in his head. She could feel the arousal bleeding off her father.

                        “More.” Sebastian growled.

                        “Father, the mender is near death. I can bring others...” Meaghan offered, rushing forward.

                        “More!” Sebastian demanded his mind full of nothing save the primal need of physical pleasure.

                        “Come!” Meaghan called down the hall and four women, two young vampires and two mortals came hurrying forward. During her father’s time away Meaghan had instructed all of them that their chance to prove their lust for her father was coming. They were ready and within moments Sebastian, deep in the throes of the bloodlust, was consumed with them.

            John was out of the collar quickly but far weaker than either of them expected. She acted as if she was simply carrying him to be treated and her father took absolutely no notice. She hurried up the stairs with him, wrapping him in the cloak before leading him out to the horse. She had him situated and had turned back to go to Sherlock only to find the man there, fixing his shirt.

                        “Go first. Take him quickly. I shall wait a while in Summer and follow.” Sherlock ordered.

                        “No, he needs your help.” She argued softly, their voices barely a whispered.

                        “Take him. You will be in danger if you remain. Go. I shall not be long!” He argued before dashing back into the manor.

            Meaghan was torn, she could wait and potentially lose what little advantage they might have but keep Sherlock with John; or she could leave and potentially see Sherlock returned to James. The mender groaned, deeply in a limbo between life and death with the herb still burning in his blood and she knew she had to take him. She mounted, throwing the extra cloak about herself and tore off from the manor. It was midday, but she ensured John was well covered so no sunlight touched him as she pushed her horse harder than ever before.

            Mycroft was pacing the length of the dining hall, yet again. Greg sighed from the top of the stairwell as he watched his mate below. For several weeks now Mycroft had been tormented, something nagging at him every waking and resting moment. Mycroft, for his part, was lost in his thoughts - a fluttery fear curling in his stomach. Something he knew was related to John and Sherlock, something that had reopened a wound he normally ignored. He looked up, tormented, as his mate came to rest beside him. Gregory sighed, watching Mycroft for a long time. He slowly wrapped his arm around the other, pulling him down onto the long sofa.

                        “Still having the dreams?” He asked quietly.

                        “It is more than that, my beloved.” Mycroft said quietly. “They haunt me, both of them. I feel as if John is so close I could touch him. I have not felt something like this for so long…” He trailed off, staring at the wall.

                        “My love, we both know he is…” Gregory frowned as Anthea came flying into the room.

                        “Mycroft!” She gasped, watching as he stood. “Meaghan, Sebastian’s youngest daughter is coming from the gate.”

                        “What is she doing here?” He growled, rushing for the door. He threw it open just as Meaghan arrived at the door, clearly weak as she struggled to pull a bundle from her horse, a bundle that groaned softly. “What business do you have here?!” He demanded angrily, his aura rising as his anger did.

                        “P-Please…” Meaghan gasped her voice dry. She was weak, having ridden non-stop to bring John to safety.

                        “Anthea, fetch her some blood.” Greg said softly, moving towards her. The bundle groaned again and Mycroft’s energy shifted violently. He dashed forward, yanking the bundle from her arms and throwing the cloak off the person inside.

                        “John!” He gasped his emotion clear in his voice. “Our John!” He exclaimed, fighting the emotion that was threatening to drown him.

                        “Please… He… He needs…”

                        “Rest, Mycroft will tend to him.” Greg whispered, hoisting the girl in his arms and carrying her to lie on the sofa. He helped Anthea give her blood, knowing that Mycroft no longer knew any of them were present.

            Mycroft could think of nothing except the mender in his arms. He gently caressed John’s cheek, frowning when he felt how cold the other was. He dashed down the stairs with him, through the birthing chamber and into the room with the large tub. He gently set John down and dashed off, returning with a glass of bloodwine that he gently provided the mender. He nursed him through several glasses before stripping and taking John into the bath. He cleaned him, murmuring words of gratitude and affection to him. So glad to have him back. John grunted, everything felt like a dream. He swore he heard Mycroft but his mind supplied that there was no way that could be true. Once Mycroft was sure the mender was cleaned he tended to the wounds that remained, hissing when he realized John had a scar that could only have been caused by repeated puncture with a silver dagger. He carried John into the secure room that he’d used to bring John into the vampire world and set the mender softly on the bed.

                        “My mender.” He breathed, leaning close to press soft kisses to John’s eyes, cheeks, and mouth.

                        “I…” John grunted, opening his eyes. He felt a little stronger but still was sure he had died. The sheets under him were so soft and he felt warm and safe in a way he’d terribly missed for years. He turned, feeling a hand on his cheek and his eyes went wide. “Mycroft…” He mumbled, his hand shaking as he raised it to touch the others face. “You…”

                        “Meaghan brought you home.” He whispered, not fighting the few tears that fell.

                        “Is she…”

                        “She is safe.” He promised, groaning as he felt John’s energy shift. “You ingested the herb.” Mycroft whispered, biting into his wrist and offering it to John without a second thought.

                        “I… I had…” John groaned the smell of Mycroft’s blood enough to drive him mad. The scent wrapping around him and urging him to realize he was safe, that he was home. John didn’t even think as his mouth latched onto the offered wrist, his blood blooming with fire as he took in Mycroft’s essence. Mycroft groaned, baring his fangs as John readily drank of him and before he could control his thoughts their mouths came together.

                        “You are home. You came back… You are mine!” Mycroft growled against his lips. Losing himself quickly in the lust of John’s aura and the knowledge the mender was home.

            John, for his part, could not stop himself the arousal that blazed inside of him. A combination of the herbs he had ingested and the desperate need to feel the touch of love. Something in the back of his mind urged him to wait, to wait for Sherlock but the love and relief radiating off of Mycroft was like a desperate salve to his angry wounds. His entire body begged for the salvation Mycroft’s promised and it only stoked the inferno inside of each of the men to a hotter blaze. John panted as Mycroft licked his blood from his lips groaning at how the other was desperate for more even as he hurried out of his own clothes. John kept kissing him over and over again as if trying to prove to himself through touch that he was actually safe. That he was actually home and that this was not a delusion. Mycroft was too desperate reclaim the fledgling he’d thought lost and it was not long before his kisses and touches became more possessive and urgent. John shouted in Mycroft's mouth as their bodies slotted together and it was not long before John was losing himself in the sensations of release. Mycroft utterly forgot everything except the long missed feel of his mender underneath him, as the whirlwind of their desires swallowed their awareness. Mycroft had no idea how long it had been when the mender could finally take no more and collapsed into his exhaustion, watching the mender finally at peace brought tears to his eyes. He gently caressed John’s cheek for a long time before the reality of what had transpired sank in.

                        “Oh…” Mycroft frowned, shame flooding him. What had he done? John had not been home a moment before Mycroft had claimed him. What would his mate think? As if summoned by his thoughts he felt Greg’s hand on his shoulder.

                        “Do not be ashamed, my love.” Greg’s voice was terribly soft from beside him. “You needed that, he needed that. Only a fool could not have seen it.” Mycroft looked up at him, concern flooding his face but Greg simply smiled on. He reached for Mycroft’s hand. “Let him rest now.”

            In the hallway Mycroft leaned his face into Greg’s chest, not seeing the small smile that played out on his lover's face. Greg was only too happy knowing John was home safely. It meant the coven would be rebuilding but it also meant his love might relax more now. Might actually let himself enjoy living again. He also knew what Mycroft did not, that Sherlock may be coming along shortly. He did not want to speak that hope however as he remembered how distraught both John and Mycroft had been when last Sherlock was thought to be free. Anthea appeared beside them and hurried into the room, gently tending to John by ensuring he was dressed and warm. She combed out his hair, humming gently as she did and smiling as the mender sank more deeply to sleep. Mycroft was tempted to remain beside the mender; however Greg knew they needed to deal with Meaghan. He slowly led Mycroft back to his study, leaving his lover in his small reverie until they entered.

            Meaghan looked up as they entered Mycroft’s study, her own glass of blood shivering slightly in her hands. She waited, knowing it was not proper for her to address Mycroft, as Mycroft pulled a robe around himself and sat down across from her. He watched her, noting how terrified she looked. He smiled a bit and saw how it warmed her a bit, her body relaxing as she watched him. He bowed his head to her, his eyes on the floor as he spoke.

                        “I owe you a debit I cannot repay.” Mycroft whispered genuinely.

                        “You owe me nothing. This is but a small portion of repayment to the mender for how many times he has saved my family. He was drawn in by that very desire, a plot made so that it would seem my sister Anna became ill. That was how he was caught.” She sighed and looked down at the glass in her hands. “He is our savior and the way my father repaid him was more terrible than I can ever explain.”

                        “I know you are tired; however I must beg of you… How did this come to pass? Last I had heard Sebastian was keeping John away from everyone, hiding him. We have made several entreaties and nothing has ever come of it.” Mycroft frowned, which only deepened as she explained the story. She left out Sherlock, Greg and she having decided it would be best to see if Sherlock returned on his own.

                        “I should have followed him.” Mycroft growled, before standing and pacing.

                        “He would have resented you. This is no one’s fault, my love.” Greg spoke gently.

                        “I should leave, I shall only bring my father's’ wrath on your coven.” Meaghan stood.

                        “No, you should remain. You are welcome here. John would like to know you are safe.” Mycroft countered.

                        “I cannot, while it is a gracious offer I must refuse.”

                        “Go to my coven.” Greg said quietly, looking to her.

                        “The Hinadri?” She asked in shock.

                        “Yes. They will protect you and your skills would be most welcome amongst their ranks.” He watched her as she nodded.

                        “I shall. They are a powerful group and it is likely they can assure my safety far better than you.” She smiled a bit.

                        “Rest here for a while first. Let John see you are well.” Mycroft demanded, his face betraying that no was not an answer.

            John was weaker than he had been in ages. He spent most of his first week in his bed, barely able to stand. Mycroft was not far from him, often perched on the sofa in the room watching for signs of discomfort. The second week John started moving around his room, touching the paintings, carvings, and even the woodwork that adorned the walls to ensure that this was still real. Mycroft was pulled away from the menders side for a while, tending to matters of the coven, so Meaghan stayed with him. They spent a week together before she felt prepared to approach Greg’s old coven and left the manor. With the careful tending of his coven members John gained more and more strength but worry filled him. Meaghan had told him Sherlock had not been long behind, however he had yet to reach the manor. John was sitting idly at the top of the stairs watching Anthea and Mycroft at the table below, idly listening to them discuss the finances of the coven. He shivered as he felt the energy of the house shift and stood just as the front doors burst open and Sherlock appeared with a wild look on his face.

                        “I am home!” He declared happily, sweeping into the room.

                        “Brother mine?!” Mycroft demanded, standing from his seat at the dining room table. John used the moment to scurry off, running to his room and closing the door behind him. He buried himself in the blanks, not wanting to know if Sherlock remembered or not.

                        “Mycroft!” Sherlock exclaimed with glee, waltzing over and hugging his brother. “Did he come?”

                        “Who?” Anthea asked quietly.

                        “John, of course.” Mycroft frowned as Sherlock spoke. “I know she brought him here and I can sense he is close. It makes me glad he is free of the beast.”

                        “Sherlock, do you know who John is?” Mycroft asked quietly.

                        “No, however I intend to.” He grinned predatorily.

                        “Sherlock, I am afraid I cannot allow you near him yet. He is…” Mycroft tried to grab Sherlock but he dashed off, taking the stairs three at a time.

                        “Where is he? I can sense him… There!” Sherlock smirked with pride as he wrenched the door to the room open. John flinched, but did not pull himself from under the blankets. Sherlock waltzed into the room, intent on pulling the blankets aside but froze when he saw the large painting over the bed. His energy changed quickly and suddenly anger filled the room, making John shiver. The painting was of John and Sherlock on their wedding day, smiling and serene in their bliss. “What trick is this?!” He demanded, ripping the blankets away from John and growling angrily at him.

                        “Sherlock.” John gasped, not sure how best to defend himself.

                        “Brother…” Mycroft began.

                        “These are lies!” Sherlock raged, rounding on Mycroft who grabbed his arms.

                        “Sherlock, you are being a fool! Wait a moment and I shall explain! John is your husband!”

                        “More lies?! Was he right about you?!” Sherlock demanded, freezing when John let out a wounded noise. He frowned, his heart aching at the noises coming from the mender but unable to stop the rage brewing in his heart. As he turned he realized the room was covered in pictures and other items that shouted memories of his happy life with John at him. He shuddered violently, none of the memories coming into his mind. He shouted in frustration and tore from the room, slamming the heavy door to the library loudly.

            Sobs followed him the entire way, sobs and the soft murmur of his brothers voice. Each sob felt like a knife in Sherlock’s heart but he could not find the reason why in his mind. He paced angrily through the library, unknowingly picking the same track John had worn into the floor when Sherlock was first taken. He paced endlessly, his anger and emotion whirring away inside of him. None of it made sense! This man… Sherlock did not know him! How could there be such pictures of them?! He had been married to James for so long, too long for there to have been any other marriage. His thoughts raced as he paced back and forth, back and forth for hours. After some time the sobs died down and faded completely leaving a hollow silence that Sherlock did not like any better. As he kept pacing his eyes fell on a long row of tomes that were unlike any other in the library. They were handbound and, as Sherlock discovered when picking on up, handwritten. He looked at the spine and frowned.

                        “Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, the truth.” He mumbled. He furrowed his brow and opened the book. As he began to read the words consumed him. In each of these tomes John had written the whole of their story. Memory after memory played out before his mind's eye as he read. He became so engrossed he lost track of time and it was not until he finished the very last page of the very last tome that he stopped.

            There was only one way to know if this was true. He needed the blood memories. He frowned, letting his senses expand to survey the energy of the house. He could tell from the smells that it was around mid-day, likely almost noon exactly. Everyone or almost everyone was asleep. He cautiously opened the door and seeing no one in the hall he stalked down and into the room the mender lay in.      John looked absolutely pitiful. He was still curled in a tiny ball and looked as if he welcomed death. He had refused the blankets, curling himself as tightly as possible and shivering against the cold of the manor. Something in Sherlock was melting and part of him wanted to curse the vampire before him as he felt it. He stepped forward, cautiously ensuring he made no noise. He was able to gently force John out of his ball and wrapped him warmly in the blankets. John mumbled, but Sherlock pushed his aura against the others, a soft smile forming as John sank into a more peaceful sleep. He lovingly turned John’s head and sank his teeth into his neck, groaning as arousal bloomed in his blood. A desire like none he could remember swept through him and it took all he had to turn from the mender and flee the room.

            He returned to the library and found the darkest corner. Folding himself into a small ball he tried to focus as his mind fought against the blood memories of the wounded mender. He put his hands in his hair, gripping it tightly and tried not to scream at the sensation of so many emotions overwhelming him.

            John sat quietly on the couch in Mycroft’s study, about a week later. Mycroft had been trying to get the mender to open up about his experiences; however he refused at every turn. He stood and walked over to sit near the mender, smiling just a bit when John leaned towards him instead of pulling away.

                        “I am glad you have left your room again.” Mycroft smiled.

                        “I am sure I have you and Anthea to thank for that.” John’s voice was hollow, a quality it had carried since the incident with Sherlock’s arrival. Mycroft frowned again and tried to strike up a conversation.

                        “John, word from my people in the north states that Sebastian has told his coven he will not follow you. I believe that Meaghan’s presence outside his control restrains him from trying to reclaim you. As I understand it he, his grandson, and Moriarty have gone deep into hiding.”

                        “Good. They belong in hell.” John growled, anger the only emotion he let show through these days.

                        “John, you have not spoken much about what transpired…” Mycroft said very gently, he and Gregory had been trying to get John to speak about his experiences for several days.

                        “I have no intention of reliving it, Mycroft. Please just…” John gasped as the door flew open to the study and Sherlock’s form filled the doorway. Sherlock’s eyes were wild and his face dark as he saw how close Mycroft was sitting to John.

                        “Mycroft…” He growled once and Mycroft stood, fully intending to protect John if required. “Move away from him.”

                        “I will not.” Mycroft growled in return.

                        “You will,” Sherlock replied and stepped forward. “You have no right to stand between me and my mate.” John stood so far he thought he might fall, Mycroft watched Sherlock for a long moment, smiling just slightly when his brother softened.

                        “S-Sherlock?” John asked very quietly. He barely blinked before he was surrounded by Sherlock, those long arms enveloping him in a warm embrace. John's body shivered as he felt the shift in Sherlock's energy, tears flowing slowly at first but the heavier as the moments passed.

                        “My John... Do not fear anymore, I am truly home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always comments are appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know if you find errors as this has not been Beta'd! Also please leave comments or kudos!


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